


This Is For

by FortySevens



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alphabet Challenge, Alternate Timeline, Alternate Universe, AoU speculation, Cats, Darcy meets Darcy, Darcyland, Definitely closer to crack, F/M, Fanfare, Fluff, James "Bucky" Barnes & Darcy Lewis Friendship, Kidnapping, Kinves, LBD Episode 6, LBD Episode 97, Maybe a little nod to some Darcy/Natasha, Memory Modification, More wingfic, One-Shot Collection, Over Here - Freeform, Over There, Ramifications of brainwashing, References to Lizzie Bennet and William Darcy, References to the Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Rooftop Meetings, There are so many Darcy's, Time Travel, Wingfic, Wingfic Darcy, answers, cat death, halloween fic, i went there, it's complicated - Freeform, old Clint Barton had a farm, pre-James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis, so much vague, sorry not sorry for all the vague, vague vague vague, verging on crack, will be Jossed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortySevens/pseuds/FortySevens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one shots from A to Z.</p><p>Up Next:<br/>Y is for Yes (Clint/Darcy, Darcy & Darcy)</p><p>“So what is this?” She glanced down her nose. “One of those ‘make a left turn at this corner at this specific time on this specific day and all will be revealed’ kind of thing? Because I don’t know if I actually believe in that, and these days, I’m pretty damn open minded.”</p><p>Previously:<br/>W is for Wings (Clint/Darcy)</p><p>“It’s simple: buy her a drink, ask her how the last couple years have been, and then go, I don’t know, have sex in a stairwell or something.”</p><p>Clint blinked at her, “It is a wonder how you are still single, Natalia Alianovna.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. M is for Memory (Clint/Darcy)

**Author's Note:**

> After years of lurking in the wonderful world that is Darcyland, I'm trying my hand on putting out some of my own work.
> 
> Amidst my work on some serious epics for the MCU (soon to come), I'm trying my hand on short fics that DON'T turn million-zillion worded monsters.
> 
> So I'm going to try out this A to Z sort of thing. We'll see how it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Forty Five: “And in closing, congratulations for finding someone who you think you can put up with for the rest of your life.” 
> 
> “This is going to be worst Maid of Honor speech in the history of the written word.”

M is for Memory (Clint/Darcy)

-

The problem wasn’t getting Darcy out of the lab AIM spirited her off to after they yanked her off the street while she was picking up groceries at one of the farmer’s markets not far from the Tower.

 

 _Six fucking weeks ago_.

 

The problem was that Darcy didn’t remember the team—her friends, her _family_ —when they finally rescued her.

 

 _Six fucking weeks later_.

 

Clint’s crutches clicked rhythmically as he hobbled down the hall in Medical after he got word that the team was back.

 

He’d have gone with them if it weren’t for his damn broken leg.

 

Okay, he’d have gone with them if Natasha hadn’t knocked him unconscious when he tried.

 

The doctor, one that made the jump from SHIELD to Stark Industries after the Hydra mess all those years ago, met him outside the small, private exam room, “She’s a little nervous,” she glanced down at her chart. “There are a lot of things she doesn’t—Agent Barton, wait-”

 

He didn’t bother as he pushed past her, easing into the room before he shoved the door behind him and locked it.

 

Darcy looked _small_ as she sat on the narrow bed wearing a baggy cotton hospital gown, bruises marring the side of her face and ringing around her narrow wrists, her legs swinging back and forth.

 

When she door opened, her head snapped up, “Oh, who are,” she broke off and scowled as she shook herself, hands flying to press hard against her temples. “Clint. Your name is Clint. Sorry.”

 

A weight lifted off his chest as he propped against the wall, resisting the urge to go to her when she started shaking, “You remember me?”

 

Her brows furrowed, “I don’t know what’s wrong with my brain right now. It’s weird,” she tilted her head, eyes narrowing to slits. “What the hell happened to your leg?”

 

The back of his neck flushed as he lifted one hand off his crutches and scratched the back of his head, muttering under his breath.

 

“ _Clinton Francis Barton_.”

 

“I fell out an air vent,” he blanched, starting forward before he lost his balance and fell back. “Wait no, you _do_ remember!”

 

She pressed her hands to her mouth before holding them out, and Clint left his crutches leaning against the wall as he hobbled over and laced his fingers with hers.

 

“How long was I gone?”

 

“Too long. I’m sorry,” he muttered as he looked down at their joined hands, his thumbs running back and forth over her knuckles. “If we had gotten to you sooner, they wouldn’t have-”

 

Darcy dropped one hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, “No use. I’m okay, er well, I will be.”

 

He shook his head as he took the hand back and pressed the backs of her fingers against his mouth, “You don’t remember everything,” he rasped through their hands. “You don’t sound like _you_.”

 

Smiling up at him, she placed her hands on his face, “I know my name,” she trailed her hands down, her fingers catching on the loose chain around his neck. “I know _yours_.”

 

She freed the chain from under his shirt and let it lay smooth against his chest.

 

“I remember _this_.”

 

Resting her hands on either side of it, Darcy sat back and met his gaze, facing all the concern and fear and love swimming in his eyes, “In all the time I was gone, _however_ long that may have been,” she wrinkled her nose playfully before she sobered. “There was one thing I knew.”

 

She swallowed hard, still shaking as Clint rubbed his hands over hers, “I may not have remembered _you_ , but I knew with everything that I had that _I missed you_.”

 

Clint let out a wet, shaky breath as he leaned in and rested his forehead against Darcy’s while her hands slid to his waist and she squeezed gently, “They could not take that from me.”

 

They rested against each other for long minutes, their echoing breaths the only sounds in the quiet, sterile room.

 

“Now then,” Darcy curled her fingers around the two rings hanging off the end of the chain and tugged, drawing his lips to hers.

 

He pulled away with a gasp, and she grinned, “I think it’s high time I take these back, _husband_.”

 

Clint cupped the back of her head and kissed her again, “ _Later_ ,” he whispered against her mouth. “I’ll give ‘em to you later.”

 

They were well on their way to making out like teenagers when Darcy abruptly pulled back, one hand tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck as he eyes narrowed, and the bottom of Clint’s stomach dropped out, fear gnawing at him.

 

Her scowl turned to a glare, “Don’t think we won’t have words about you and those air vents, buddy.”

 

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes and went back to distracting her with his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Forty Five: “And in closing, congratulations for finding someone who you think you can put up with for the rest of your life.” 
> 
> “This is going to be worst Maid of Honor speech in the history of the written word.”


	2. F is for Feathers (Clint/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you a mutant?"
> 
> "No,” she saw disbelief on all their faces and hurried to add. “It’s kind of really complicated.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this, I really had no idea that it was going to end up well, like it ended up.
> 
> I left certain parts vague on the chance that I ever decide to revisit this corner of the realm.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Forty Seven: “Is that blood?” 
> 
> “No?” 
> 
> “That’s not a question you’re supposed to answer with another question.”

**F is for Feathers (Clint/Darcy)**

 

**Now:**

Darcy Lewis had never felt more like she was being examined under a microscope that she had at this very moment.

 

Ironic really, since she spent most of her days surrounded by scientists.

 

She was perched dead center on a microfiber monstrosity of a couch in one of the Stark “Don’t Call if Avengers, yes, I _know_ the A was the last letter standing on the building but it wasn’t a damn metaphor, I _swear_ ” Tower living rooms, an oversized t-shirt hanging off her shoulders.

 

The Avengers—and they _were_ The Avengers, still clad in uniform and shaking off the dust from the afternoon’s incident at what was supposed to be a party in honor of the team at Rockefeller Center—were all sitting around her, waiting for her to start.

 

She just didn’t know where the beginning _was_.

 

Was it her birth? When she was young? When she took Jane’s internship in New Mexico? When Thor crash landed after getting the boot from Asgard?

 

With their eyes practically boring holes into her and the room unbearably silent, finally, blessedly, Steve broke first and rubbed a gloved hand through his sweaty hair before he sighed, “Are you a mutant?”

 

Fingers picking at the frayed hem of her borrowed shirt—she wasn’t sure who it actually belonged to, but had an inkling it was one of Clint’s—she sighed and glanced out the window where the sun had long since set, but New York was still alive with light.

 

She took another deep breath, “No,” she saw disbelief on all their faces and hurried to add. “It’s kind of really complicated.”

 

On the far side of the room, perched at the bar, Tony let out a snort, “When isn’t it?”

 

Finally, she forced herself to look at Clint—no, _Hawkeye_ —who was standing in the far corner of the room, arms crossed tight over his chest as the Black Widow sat a few feet in front of him as if she was guarding her partner.

 

And she probably was.

 

Hawkeye was looking at her through narrowed eyes, like he was trying to pick the answers straight out of the thoughts raging through her mind.

 

She knew, she _knew_ , he was trying to figure out how, after years of hooking up and casual dating, he could have missed the way a fucking _massive_ pair of wings sprouted from her narrow back after they fell off the roof not long after their party had been attacked by Doombots.

 

Darcy reached forward and picked the leather cuff off the coffee table in front of her, holding it in both hands.

 

**Then:**

“You ever going to tell me why you never take this off?”

 

Curled up against Clint’s side with one leg thrown over his on her tiny bed in her closet of a bedroom at the dealership, Darcy spared a glance to the arm draped across his bare chest.

 

A leather cuff wrapped around her wrist while his nimble fingers toyed with the strings that weaved in and out of the seam to secure it.

 

“Maybe one day,” she looked up at him through her lashes. “If you’re good.”

 

Clint chuckled low in his chest as he rolled them over, his bare legs tangling with hers as he pressed a line of kisses down the slope of her neck, “I thought I just was,” he murmured. “ _Twice_.”

 

Her breath caught as he brushed his teeth against _that spot_ where her neck met her shoulder, and her legs shifted so he could rest his lower body between them, “Maybe,” she gasped again and poked his side in retaliation. “Maybe third time’s a charm.”

 

His hands pressed to the mattress on either side of her head as he loomed over her before he pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth that really did leave her gasping, “I’m going to hold you to that,” he whispered as he dragged her lower lip between his teeth.

 

Darcy curled an arm around his neck and used the leverage to lift her shoulders off the mattress and press her lips back to his, sliding her tongue past his teeth to wrest with his.

 

They kissed until an irritating series of chirps from the plastic shelving unit she used as a dresser broke through the gasps, moans, and quiet pleas to _stop being such a damn tease, Barton_ , and Darcy let her head flop back against her pillow as Clint rolled off her and padded across the room.

 

“If that’s your iPod stealing boss, _please_ tell him where to shove it and come back to bed,” she muttered, rolling onto her side and propping her head on one hand as she took in the line of his naked backside, half illuminated by the light streaming in from her tiny window.

 

He glanced at her over one scar-dusted shoulder before answering his phone, and Darcy flopped back onto her back as he murmured quietly with, yep, definitely the iPod stealing butt-head.

 

Eventually, Clint let out a curt _yes sir,_ followed by an even more laconic, _right away sir_ , before he tossed the phone back onto the dresser and wordlessly grabbed his pants, which were hanging off the edge of the bed.

 

“So,” Darcy drawled. “Duty calls?”

 

He froze, staring at her as if he’d forgotten she was even there, and Darcy’s brows furrowed as she sat up, bringing the sheet with her and tucking it over her chest, “Clint?”

 

Shaking out of _whatever_ that was,Clint finished buttoning his pants and padded back over, perching at the edge of the bed and tucking one hand in the fall of her hair, “My team’s been reassigned,” he murmured, his thumb stroking back and forth behind her ear.

 

And damn if it wasn’t distracting.

 

Darcy blinked out from the haze she _knew_ he was sending her to on purpose, “ _Now_? Seriously? It’s like, like,” she glanced around before she realized that her only clock was her phone, which was, _somewhere,_ hopefully in her bag. “It’s _late_.”

 

He shrugged, “Perks of the job,” he kissed her, mouth lingering against hers before he kissed her nose, then her forehead, then got up in search of his shirt. “They’re sending me to cover Selvig. I don’t know where.”

 

“So you’re going to disappear into the night and I’m pretty much never going to see you again.”

 

Two months of nights of shitty beer at the one semi-decent bar in town, arguments over who had the better tastes in music, making out on the roof of the dealership and days spent not so secretly watching him as Jane ordered Clint and his team around whenever they got new equipment, sneaking him food when he was supposed to be on duty, flashed through her mind.

 

And Darcy was _not_ going to get upset because she _knew_ this was going to happen.

 

Tugging his shirt on and stepping into his boots, Clint went back to her, hands cradling either side of her head as he kissed her, his thumbs stroking her cheeks, “I’ll track you down,” he dropped a final kiss on her lips before he ran a finger down her nose.

 

Then he left.

 

**Later:**

Clint did track her down, eventually.

 

It just took four years, two alien invasions on two separate continents, one very large mental breakdown, one even bigger secret organization that both literally and figuratively burned to the ground, and one modern-day Nazi masquerading as an unassuming boyfriend slash intern, but they finally were getting back to what had been brewing during that time SHIELD spent covering Jane and Darcy in New Mexico.

 

Except now, Darcy was pretty sure Clint wasn’t going to want anything to do with her anymore.

 

Being well, _what she was_ , was a huge deal, and he had enough—far too much, really—on his own plate.

 

After sending Jane and her well-meaning hovering back to the apartment she shared with Thor, she grabbed a pint of Ben & Jerry’s from her fridge and curled up on the couch, Netflix already cued on the flat screen courtesy of the best AI _ever._

 

Halfway through the pint and twenty minutes into an old episode of _What Not To Wear_ , there was a knock on the door.

 

Hitting pause, she left her ice cream on the coffee table and padded over, her fleece blanket still hanging on her shoulders and trailing after her like a cape, “Clint?” Her brows furrowed in surprise. “Hi.”

 

Because she did _not_ expect to see him so soon.

 

If at all.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

Wordlessly, she stepped aside, curling her blanket tighter around her upper body as she followed him into the den of her loft-like apartment, and waited for him to speak his piece.

  
Whatever it was going to be.

 

Clint still looked at her like he wanted to rip her open and see how it all worked, “Can I,” he broke off, biting his lip and rocking back on his heels when he noticed that the leather cuff was between the ice cream and her Starkpad. “Can I see them again?”

 

All she could do was gape.

 

“You,” she swallowed and finally managed. “You want to?”

 

He nodded, and Darcy saw he was breathing just a little easier as he waited for her to make her decision.

 

And that’s what made it for her.

 

She let the blanket fall off her shoulders, and she dragged it by one corner back to the couch before meeting Clint by the coffee table, clad in leggings and the same t-shirt from earlier that evening.

 

“Are you sure?” She looked him straight in the eye, waiting for the same fear and unease she saw when she demoed exactly where the ten-foot wings actually _went_ when she wasn’t busy scaring the crap out of everyone.

 

He swallowed hard, “ _Yes_.”

 

Darcy was tempted to blame the shaking in her hands from the cold of the ice cream as she slowly lifted the shirt away with one hand, the other fisting around her hair as she dragged the mass over one shoulder.

 

She finally tore her eyes away from his when she turned around, revealing the clusters of raised skin that formed the pattern of her wings as they rested on her shoulders, the backs of her arms, the whole of her back, while the ends of some of the feathers disappeared under her leggings to dust over her butt and the back of her legs.

 

Clint was quiet, and a glance out of the corner of her eye told her he was staring, gaping really, “You can touch them, if you want,” she swallowed as she tried to fight back against the quiver in her voice.

  
Minutes passed before he did, shaking fingers trailing over one of the larger feathers tucked against her left side, one a faded black with the spine of it raised against her skin, and then his hand drifted over the cluster of silver feathers along the small of her back before they moved to the russet-colored feathers the same shade as her hair that covered her spine.

 

“Does it hurt? When they come out?”

 

“No,” she gasped when she felt his mouth press against a rounded spot over her scapula where feathers _weren’t,_ courtesy of an accident from years and years and years ago. “I don’t really know how it works.”

 

Very lightly, he trailed the palms of both hands over her back before settling them on her shoulders and tugging her back against him, “They’re beautiful,” he murmured in her ear as she gasped, one of her hands curling around his as she pinched the bridge of her nose with the other. “This is _amazing_.”

 

“More like overwhelming,” she sniffed, brushing tears from her eyes as she turned in his arms and tucked her head against his chin. “I’m sorry I hid them. I almost got burned at the stake the last time I showed them off.”

 

Clint stilled at that, and she felt him shake his head as his arms tightened, “Don’t think that’s likely to happen these days.”

 

She snorted as she slid one hand over his heart, “You never know.”

 

“It’s _not_ ,” he growled. “I won’t let it. _We_ won’t let it.”

 

“I believe you,” she whispered, her hands curling around the hem of his shirt, content to just stand there in his arms.

 

And she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Love it? Hate it? Wondering what the heck 47 was thinking when she wrote this (so am I)? 
> 
> Drop a line in the comments.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Forty Seven: “Is that blood?” 
> 
> “No?” 
> 
> “That’s not a question you’re supposed to answer with another question.”


	3. S is for Silence (and Sound) (Bucky & Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Any exciting plans for the day? Stare blankly at Tony as he works on your arm? Stare blankly at the SI staffers as they try to shrink you back so relative sanity? Stare blankly at Thor as he recites another epic poem about that time he dressed in drag and almost got married?”
> 
> Before Bucky could even make a facial tick in reply, she heard, “Darcy, what are you doing?” Steve wondered as he made his way into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super vague references to Clint/Darcy
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Fifty One: “I don’t know what the protocol is for revealing your secret identity so, hi? Surprise?”

**S is for Silence (and Sound) (Bucky & Darcy)**

-

“Hey Barnes, do you know what the best thing about you is?”

 

Darcy went on without waiting for his reply, “Well, one of them, because the whole metal hand thing is totally awesome for helping me open those stubborn jar lids that my dumb boyfriend totally closes really tightly on purpose.”

 

He arched a brow, and Darcy took that as leave for her to continue, “It’s how you do that _thing_ where you sit at the table in the one shadow that literally follows you around all the time and stare everyone down early in the mornings, scaring them out of the kitchen. I so approve.”

 

Which was exactly what he was trying to do to her, but she shrugged it off like she always did as she ripped a piece off her toast, dipped it in butter and popped it in her mouth, “Speaking of that shadow, how does it even _work_? Is it like a mutation or something? Or magic?”

 

Nothing. 

 

“Okay, not mutation or magic,” she mentally scratched that off her list as she wiped greasy streaks of crumbs and smeared butter onto a napkin. “Did you, I don’t know, bribe JARVIS?”

 

He blinked slowly.

 

“Oh my god, you did!” She gushed, pushing her plate off to the side and leaning on her elbows so she could prop her chin on her hands. “I didn’t think anyone could manage to get around his whole indebted to _Sir_ deal he’s got going on with his daddy. You have to tell me how you did it, because I _need_ a fanfare every time I enter a room more than I need air.”

 

“ _Excuse me, Ms. Lewis, but I do not refer to Sir as_ my daddy,” the AI said with barely veiled derision. “And no, you can’t have a fanfare because Tony reserves that right for himself.”

 

She kept her eyes on Bucky and saw the way his hands clenched slightly at JARVIS’ surprise interjection, “Of course he does,” she quipped. “That is a huge bummer, right Bucky?”

 

The look on his face once he calmed down a moment later told her that he probably didn’t give a damn.

 

Of course, he only said six words just about every three and a half days, so she wasn’t _entirely_ sure.

 

“Well even if you don’t think so, it really is,” she insisted as she drained the last of her coffee from the oversized Captain America mug she hand-painted during a spontaneous craft night she had with Pepper and Clint a few months after she, Jane, and Thor moved into the Tower.

 

How was this her life?

 

“So,” she went on, filling the silence as if it wasn’t even there, or even stunningly oppressive. “Any exciting plans for the day? Stare blankly at Tony as he works on your arm? Stare blankly at the SI staffers as they try to shrink you back so relative sanity? Stare blankly at Thor as he recites another epic poem about that time he dressed in drag and almost got married?”

 

Before Bucky could even make a facial tick in reply, she heard, “Darcy, what are you doing?” Steve wondered as he made his way into the kitchen.

 

“Bucky and I are having a very important conversation about what we’re going to do today, Captain,” she chirped as she pasted a wide grin on her face.

 

Steve leveled a bland look in her direction, “You’ve been here fifteen minutes and he hasn’t said a word. How is that a conversation?”

 

“And you’ve been lurking, which is totally creepy and proof you’re spending too much time with Natasha,” she turned to Bucky in time to see the corner of his lip tick up. “And _you_ knew he was here the whole time. God, I’m sure you two were an absolute trip and a half back in the olden days.”

 

Then, she realized exactly what she said, “Which,” she faltered as she went on, unable to stop herself. “You do not actually remember. My bad Bucky.”

 

He blinked slowly, then lifted on shoulder in half of a shrug, and Darcy was pretty sure she’d been forgiven by what came out of her _way too often_ out of control mouth.

 

“ _Anyway_ ,” she drawled as she looked back up at Steve, who looked like he was just back from a run through Central Park. “Conversation. Bucky and me. Happens on most mornings when I’m not recovering from twenty-eight hour science benders with Jane and the boys. And that sounds like the name of some half-baked alternative music group from the early 2000s. God I need more coffee.”

 

Then Darcy turned back to the table, her eyes flaring wide when she saw her empty coffee mug was not only _filled back to the brim_ , but also doctored the exact way she liked it.

 

_How?_

 

Because Bucky was only other person in the kitchen.

 

And he looked like he hadn’tmoved _an inch_ in the seconds she’d been looking at Steve.

 

Clint lurking in the air ducts, would have definitely been a possibility had he not been on some top-secret recon mission in Bolivia with Natasha for the last week—which was terrible, in Darcy’s professional opinion.

 

Her head snapped to the coffee maker, the sloppy bun on the top of her head flopping from one side to the other, and then back to Bucky, who definitely looked more than a little smug.

 

“Dude, how did you _do that_?”

 

His blue eyes were wide as he stared at her.

 

“Assassin. _Right_.”

 

-

Three days later, Darcy walked into the labs, the doors sliding open to the ear-ratting Olympic fanfare by John Williams, which startled Bruce so badly he had to run to the hold—a special room made for the Other Guy—to get his breathing under control before he Hulked out.

 

As the trumpets and drums faded, Darcy winced as Bruce disappeared through the small door on the far side of the room, “So that’s why I’m not allowed to have a fanfare in the labs?”

 

Jane’s arms were crossed over her chest as she tried to look disapproving, but she was definitely, _definitely_ fighting a grin, “How did you convince JARVIS to do that? You’ve been trying since we moved in.”

 

“I _swear_ , that it was not me.”

 

She rolled her eyes, “Really Darcy, come on.”

 

“No, no, I’m serious. I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure _Bucky_ did it.”

 

Jane looked at Darcy for a long minute, and then burst out laughing, bending at her waist with the force of it, “Oh my god, Darcy, you _really_ need to work on your spy-craft.”

 

“But I’m not lying Jane. _Jane!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Love it? Hate it? Wondering what the heck 47 was thinking when she wrote this? 
> 
> Well so am I.
> 
> Drop a line in the comments.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Fifty One: “I don’t know what the protocol is for revealing your secret identity so, hi? Surprise?”


	4. R is for Rooftop (Bucky & Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know who I am. Why aren’t you running scared?”
> 
> “Dark elves.”
> 
> The look he favored her with moved to confusion, and she waved a dismissive hand, “It’s an Asgard thing, I guess. But they were much scarier.”
> 
> “I think I should be offended.”
> 
> She shrugged, “I just state facts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I've got more where this one came from.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Fifty Seven: “Excuse me! I was a superhero for ten whole minutes!” 
> 
> “And in that time you got kidnapped and we had to come to the rescue.”

**R is for Rooftop (Bucky & Darcy)**

-

Not long after the mess that was the incident in London and Jane getting possessed by that weird red _stuff_ , Jane’s mother strongly encouraged that they get their own place of residence.

 

Literally _anywhere_ but her apartment.

 

With a deadline of as soon as humanly possible, Jane and Darcy found a tiny top-floor apartment not far from the Royal Observatory and moved their sparse belongings—a lot of their stuff was still in New Mexico at the dealership since they fled so quickly when Loki attacked New York—from one end of town to the other.

 

And that’s how Darcy met James ‘Bucky’ Barnes—formerly the Winter Soldier, formerly-formerly Steve Rogers’ number uno Howling Commando.

 

Not that she ever told anyone.

 

She and Jane watched evil!SHIELD label Captain America an enemy of the state on their tiny, second-hand television, and they were seconds away from sending Thor across the Atlantic to help him.

 

But before they could, a pants-wearing Erik got a terse text message from an unknown number telling them all to stay put and for Thor to stay on his guard and not to leave them, no matter what.

 

It was signed CB.

 

And when it turned out that Ian—quiet, unassuming, halfway decent almost-boyfriend Ian—was really a Hydra plant sent to steal Jane’s research and kill them all, Darcy had been immensely grateful they send word.

 

Thor took care of the situation easily.

 

But not before Ian was personally introduced to her taser.

 

He really should have known better.

 

Darcy sighed, shifting on the lounge chair she’d been lying on since she fled up to the rooftop terrace, the apartment below too crowded with the addition of Steve and his friend Sam, who were on the hunt for Bucky and had been staying with them for the last two weeks.

 

With Jane and Thor in the only bedroom, leaving the couch in the den as Darcy’s domain, the rest of the remaining floor space went to the two guests, filling the cozy home to bursting.

 

So before she did or said something she’d end up regretting—they had enough on their minds as it was—she made her way up the rickety staircase to hide for a while.

 

Looking up, she tried to find Jane’s stars in the cloudy London skies, but the thick cloud cover refused to budge.

 

She drew her legs up one by one and picked at the frayed edges of the hole in the right knee of her jeans, her breaths deep and even as her nerves slowly began to settle down.

 

A sound dragged her from her open-eyed meditation, and she looked to her left in time to see movement in the shadows of the rooftop next-door.

 

Narrowing her eyes at the darkness, she froze when a man in a tattered hoodie and jeans with long, unkempt hair practically materialized in front of her, and she clenched her hands on her knees.

 

The ping of recognition went off in her mind as she saw the frown on his face.

 

When Steve and Sam first showed up, she snuck a peak at the pictures they showed Thor, and even though it was dark, he sure as hell fit the figure of the muzzled man from the bridge.

 

It didn’t take long for her to puzzle out why he was there either, but her words stuck in her throat as she met the fierce blue gaze of the man on the other building.

 

And then the realization she left her taser on the coffee table next to her makeshift bed hit her like a ton of bricks.

 

The man shot _Nick Fury_.

 

“They’re not here,” she finally blurted as she blinked out of their little staring contest—and holy shit his eyes were _blue_ —and then she flinched when the words passed her lips.

 

Even with the darkness, she saw the muscle in his jaw tick before he nodded, “I know.”

 

“There _is_ a god downstairs though, and the last time someone tried to attack me, he ended up getting his head bashed in, and it was a bitch to get the bloodstains out of the hardwood,” she offered before she slapped a hand over her mouth.

 

Because _why_ did she have to offer something so blatantly threatening?

 

Again, he _shot Nick Fury_.

 

But all he did was laugh, a short bark really, but he kept to his perch on the roof to her left and didn’t look like he was going to move any time soon, and she couldn’t figure out _why_ , “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Down on the street, a car slipped into an open parking space, and an older man—Darcy couldn’t remember his name, but he had a German accent and smelled like cat litter—got out and made his way into the townhouse across the street, and the assassin melted back into the shadows.

 

He was gone so long that Darcy thought he was _gone_ , but in a minute he was back, sitting down in a low strip of light thrown from the bare bulb that lit up the small garden that separated rooftops.

 

She had a thousand and a half questions for him, but they all stayed on her tongue before she finally managed, “Are you going to sit out all night waiting for them to get back?”

 

If there was one thing Darcy was not, it was an idiot, and while she knew where Sam and Steve went off to, she wasn’t going to offer up the information because he hadn’t killed her yet.

 

“Are you going to tell him you saw me?”

 

She jumped a little when he finally spoke, opened her mouth to answer, and then snapped it shut when she realized she didn’t have a clue what she was going to do about him.

 

A man who could _definitely_ kill her if she gave him an answer he didn’t like.

 

Because that man _shot Nick Fury_.

 

Finally, she settled on, “What do you want me to do?”

 

He was silent for a long time as he watched her, and she thought for a moment that she might have surprised him before he just shrugged.

 

“I think Steve just wants a chance to get his friend back.”  


His frown deepened, “I can’t be that man from the museum.”

 

It took a minute before she remembered the exhibit at the Smithsonian, and from her mindless surfing on the Internet, she’d seen the halls dedicated to the Captain and his team.

 

Especially one James Buchanan Barnes.

 

“I don’t think he’s expecting _that_. You two were all the other had back in the olden days, and helping people is his thing right now.”

 

“He shouldn’t waste the effort.”

 

She shook her head, “He’s stubborn like that. I once did a paper on the time he had Howard Stark and Peggy Carter drop him behind enemy lines even though his superiors said his best friend was probably definitely dead.”

 

Sitting up, she flipped her legs over the side of the lounger and faced him fully, “Steve Rogers does what he wants, and until you decide to have words with him, he’s just going to keep on keeping on with trying to track you down.”

 

He was quiet for a long time, and he might have been mulling her words, or he might have been trying to remember that very first rescue, or he was quietly debating with himself whether or not to kill her—Nick. Freaking. Fury.—but he finally just settled on narrowing his eyes, “You know who I am. Why aren’t you running scared?”

 

“Dark elves.”

 

The look he favored her with moved to confusion, and she waved a dismissive hand, “It’s an Asgard thing, I guess. But they were _much_ scarier.”

 

“I think I should be offended.”

 

She shrugged, “I just state facts,” a drop of water landed on the bridge of her nose, and her eyes crossed as the skies opened up. “Sometimes this place and its weather ADD drive me up the damn wall.”

 

Not surprising, but he didn’t say anything, and she was soaked through in the seconds it took for her to decide what to do next, “I’m going to head in,” she pushed off the chair and made her way to the stairs. “Do you, uh, want an umbrella or a blanket or something?”

 

Assassins or not, manners were manners.

 

“Nah. Lock your windows tonight.”

 

Arching a brow in askance, she stared at him until her vision blurred thanks to the water running down her lenses, and she shook her head when he didn’t offer more, “All right then. It was uh, nice to meet you. I won’t say anything to Steve, but you should probably throw him a bone at some point.”

 

He remained silent.

 

“If there’s anything else I can do,” she shrugged one shoulder. “Well, you know where to find me.”

 

Darcy felt the pressure of eyes on her back until she slipped inside, locking the balcony door behind her like he asked.

 

In the morning, Steve and Sam were all aflutter because that German man across the street was apparently a Hydra plant—big shocker there, _really_ —but it was all right because he was dead now.

 

Apparently, some mysterious assassin—one who shot Nick Fury, perhaps—killed him late in the night after carving a bloody star into his left shoulder.

 

Darcy drew the same conclusions everyone else did, but stayed quiet about the fact that he’d definitely been scouting their neighbor all night from right above their heads.

 

The duo was gone within hours of checking the scene—he didn’t _have_ to leave such an obvious sign, so maybe something she said to him resonated—and she had a feeling they’d find him sooner or later.

 

Three weeks after that, the contents of the apartment were packed away into a Stark Industries moving truck, and she, Jane, and Thor crossed the Atlantic on a private jet with a retractable stripper pole build into the lounge.

 

According to the flight attendant, Mr. Tony Stark hadn’t actually used the thing in years, and since she was on the low end of sixty, Darcy certainly hoped so, or she was going to have a really hard time looking her new benefactor in the eye.

 

Two days later, Darcy was exploring the shops around One Avengers Plaza when she spied one wayward assassin, who was _definitely_ letting her see him as he tailed her.

 

Three days after that, she signed a lease on her own apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Love it? Hate it? Wondering what the heck 47 was thinking when she wrote this?
> 
> Well so am I.
> 
> Drop a line in the comments.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Fifty Seven: “Excuse me! I was a superhero for ten whole minutes!” 
> 
> “And in that time you got kidnapped and we had to come to the rescue.”


	5. K is for Knife (Darcy/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bucky,” she waited until he faced her. “Are you at all concerned by the fact that you just handed me your knife?”
> 
> He looked at her like he didn’t know what she was talking about, “No.”
> 
> “No?”
> 
> “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone had this absolutely terrible (in its brilliance) headcanon & gif set on Tumblr that Bucky was trained to giving his handlers a weapon when he was alone with them, and I decided to take that and run.
> 
> And here is a link to that headcanon: http://checkthemargins.tumblr.com/post/97176353582/it-is-my-headcanon-that-there-is-a-gun-on-the
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Fifty Eight: “Hold on, you died.” 
> 
> “Yeah, well it didn’t stick.”

**K is for Knife (Darcy/Bucky)**

-

The only reason why it took so long for Darcy to notice Bucky’s habit was that they were never actually _alone_ together during the first six or so months after he moved in Stark Tower.

 

But then Jane and Tony went on a three-day science bender—that probably involved an alcohol bender as well—and Darcy had to call Pepper, who was working in Europe for the week, to get authorization to lock the dangerous duo out of the lab before the building exploded.

 

A day and a half later, Darcy stood barefoot in the kitchen and still in her pajamas as she shook out a bowl of cereal, low strains of a baseball game on TV echoing in from the living room.

 

She cradled the bowl in one arm so she could grab her phone and coffee, and she made her way toward the noise, finding Bucky sitting on the center of the couch as he watched the Dodgers take on the Angels.

 

“Mind if I join you?” She announced as she waited in the doorway.

  
Bucky looked up, and she watched recognition flicker in his eyes as he figured out who he was—much quicker than the first few weeks after he moved in—and he nodded.

 

“Awesome,” she settled on the far end of the couch, leaning forward to drop everything in her arms onto the coffee table as she checked the TV. “Scoreless in the sixth with _that_ many runners on base? This must be the most bring game of the day.”

 

He didn’t say anything, and when she looked over, she found him holding one of his knifes by the blade across the cushions, the hilt pointed toward her, not even looking at her as he waited for her to take it.

 

“Uh, thanks,” she turned her wide-eyed gaze down to it, the overhead lights shining off the meticulously sharpened, six-inch blade.

 

Her still sleepy brain ground to a halt as she stared dumbly at it.

 

“It’s just wrong,” he muttered, startling her out of her reverie, and her head snapped away from the blade resting across her fingers.

 

She cleared her throat, “W-what is?”  
  
A dark sneer crossed Bucky’s face as he gestured at the screen, “Who the hell let the club move all the way to _California_? Who am I supposed to root for around her, the damn Yankees?”

 

Blinking at the screen, she took a deep breath, “Bucky,” she waited until he faced her. “Are you at all concerned by the fact that you just handed me your knife?”

 

He looked at her like he didn’t know what she was talking about, “No.”

 

“No?”

 

“No.”

 

She took another breath, and then shook her head, because this was way, way, _way_ out of her depth, “Okay,” she reached to the side and grabbed her cereal, still not sure what to do with the knife and finally dropping it on the cushion next to her. “Want some cereal?”

 

When the game was over an hour later—Go Dodgers, even if he was still _super_ , almostl hilariously bitter that they weren’t in Brooklyn anymore—Bucky stood and held a hand out, and Darcy’s eyes were wide as she handed the blade back.

 

“See you later, Lewis.”

 

Darcy stared at his back as he disappeared, her eyes focused on the hallway long after the elevator pinged to take him back downstairs.

 

-

“Why do you do that?” She finally forced herself to ask two months later as she sat with Bucky while JARVIS cued up the latest episode of _How It’s Made_ on the television in her apartment.

 

Bucky blinked at her, one arm stretched across the back of the couch, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t aware that he was toying her hair with his left hand, “Do what?”

 

She frowned, “You don’t know?” She held the knife out between them. “You do this like, _all_ the time.”

 

“Doll, _what_ are you going on about?”

 

Taking a deep breath, she swallowed hard and tried to calm down so _he_ wouldn’t freak out, “You don’t realize that every single time we’re alone, you hand me your knife?”

 

His jaw ticked as he looked at the weapon, and he drew away from her, crossing his arms over his chest, “It’s protocol.”

 

 _Protocol_.

 

She mouthed the word, and then flinched hard.

 

His old handlers _trained him_ to arm them when they were alone.

 

In case they needed to put him down.

 

“Fuck.”

 

Bucky stood quickly, “I’m gonna go,” he muttered, and was out the door before she could say anything.

 

The click of the door swinging shut echoed in her apartment, and Darcy dropped her gaze back to the knife that quickly became a familiar accessory.

 

“ _Fuck_.”

 

She needed to go after him, “JARVIS, where is he going?”

 

“The roof, Ms. Lewis.”

 

Groaning, she stood, “Ugh, I know he’s the _Winter_ Soldier and all, but it’s like four degrees outside.”

 

“Then I suggest you wear your North Face parka and maybe your boots if you decide to go after him.”  


With a scoff, she darted over to the hall closet and grabbed the heavy jacket, shoving it on as she pushed her feet into her boots, not bothering to tie them as she made her way to the door.

 

“ _If_ ,” she spat under her breath. “Like I _wouldn’t_.”

 

She was halfway into the hall when she cursed under her breath and used the leverage from her hand on the door to swing back inside, jogging unsteadily over to the couch and swiping the knife off the cushions.

 

Taking a second to stuff her laces into the boots before she tripped over them, she yanked her bottled blue afghan off the back of the couch and tucked it over her other arm.

 

“J, elevator please,” she muttered once she was in the hall, diving into the open doors and tapping her foot as it rose to the roof.

 

When Tony was trying to convince Jane to give her mother her apartment back and move into one of his in the Tower, one of the sticking points was that there wasn’t a rooftop space like they had back in New Mexico.

 

So Tony, being Tony, renovated the upper spire, expanding the space and building a fire bit, pretty much making it the most livable outdoor space in the Tower.

 

The elevator opened to the glass-walled sun room that had its own seating installed on the right side, and Darcy made her way to the doors, eyes scanning through the dimness for the wayward soldier.

 

It took a second before she found him leaning against the railing to her right, and she took a deep breath as she pressed her free hand to the glass.

 

She jumped when the knife clanged against it, and her jaw ticked as she tightened her fingers around the molded grip, “Okay Darcy,” she muttered under her breath, shoving it in her pocket. “It’s going to be fine.”  


Swallowing, she pushed the door open and winced at the burst of cold air that smacked her in the face, “Hey,” she murmured, and Bucky’s shoulders tensed before he looked back at her.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“You left kind of abruptly,” she murmured, her boots crunching on the roofing. “Here.”

 

Bucky looked between her and the blanket hanging off her arm, and then back again, and Darcy shifted from one foot to the other, “Come on Bucky,” she shook her outstretched arm. “Super-soldier powers or not, it’s freezing out.”

 

With a sigh and a nod, he took the blanket, his fingers brushing against her arm, and she resisted the urge to shudder as he tugged it over his shoulders, holding it closed against his chest with one hand.

 

“Thanks.”

 

She tugged her sleeves higher over her hands as she stepped up next to him, “I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m the one who handed you the _knife_ ,” he dug through his pockets with his other hand. “Fuck, I’ve got to-”

 

“Hey,” she cut him off and grabbed the knife. “It’s right here. You’re good.”

 

Breathing hard through his nose, he shook his head and looked back out to the city below, “Think this pretty much proves how wrong you are, doll.”

 

Her short laugh was swallowed by a gust of wind, and she held her jacket closer to her body, “Do you remember what I told you when Steve first brought you down to our labs?”

 

Bucky let out a derisive snort, “Rule number one: Darcy Lewis is always right,” he recited. “Rule number two: if Darcy Lewis is wrong, see rule number one.”

 

“Exactly,” she rested her left side against the railing so she could look at him. “You’re going to be _fine_.”

 

Laughing hollowly, he hung his head, “I’m not _safe_ to be around you, and you’re not like the others,” he murmured. “I _have_ to be able to give you that chance to defend yourself.”

 

Darcy sighed as her eyes traced the tension in his neck and shoulders, and she could hear the servos in his arm clicking as his stress levels rose, “Hey, I get it.”

 

“What?” He finally turned to her, his eyes wide.

 

She held her hands out, the blade turned and lying against her wrist, and he hesitated before settling his hands on hers, “If it makes you feel better while you’re here, then who am I to have an issue? I just ant you to be _aware_ when you’re doing things like that.”  


His jaw worked as he tried to figure out what to say, and she cut him off with a gentle shake of her head.

 

“How about this,” she held fast to his hands. “I keep this knife with me so you _know_ that I’m always armed, even though that’s silly because you’re not actually going to hurt me, and we’ll work on breaking you out of the habit the rest of the time.”

 

“You would do that?” He breathed, and Darcy’s chest ached with the way he looked at her like no one ever offered him a concession like that.

 

She shrugged a shoulder, “I do kind of like you, you know.”

 

Bucky shook his head, looking down at his feet, but she could see him looking at her through his thick, dark lashes, and she grinned and squeezed his fingers, “ _But_ ,” she drawled, waiting for him to look at her before she went on. “I’m _not_ bringing it into the bedroom.”

 

He choked on his breath, “ _What_?”

 

“Oh _please_ , like us sleeping together isn’t entirely inevitable at this point.”

 

His ears were bright red, and she barely heard him as he muttered, “I didn’t want to presume.”  


Darcy snorted, shivering harder as the wind picked up again, “Well I just presumed enough for the both of us. Happy?”

 

“Getting there,” he used their joined hands to tug her against him, wrapping one arm around her shoulders as he used the other to drape the large, heavy afghan over them both. “Better?”

 

“Much,” she nodded against his neck, her free hand curling around the hem of his t-shirt.

 

Securing the edges of the blanket against his side, Bucky tucked his hand against the back of her head and kissed her, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of her lips before Darcy opened her mouth to him and used her grip on his shirt to tug him closer.

 

The knife slipped from her other hand, clattering to the ground by her feet.

 

Bucky didn’t even notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Love it? Hate it? Wondering what the heck 47 was thinking when she wrote this?
> 
> Well so am I.
> 
> Drop a line in the comments.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Fifty Eight: “Hold on, you died.” 
> 
> “Yeah, well it didn’t stick.”


	6. H is for Harvest (Clint/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Agent Barton, I believe it would behoove you to knock.”
> 
> He arched a brow and actually looked at the security camera at the end of the hall, “On my girlfriend’s door? What, is she plotting world domination and doesn’t want my help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this adorable comic I found on Tumblr. 
> 
> Enjoy it here: http://whosthewhatnow.tumblr.com/post/100033832151/thefrogman-there-is-also-a-death-for-the
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Sixty Three: “You sounded like you thought you were being stabbed in the back, but then realized it was just a plastic fork.” 
> 
> “I was jumpy, we almost died!”

**H is for Harvest (Clint/Darcy)**

-

Life these days, in Clint’s not at all humble opinion, was _great_.

 

The team was working well together—Tony and Steve hadn’t gotten into any knock down, drag-outs in the last couple weeks—which made _everyone_ happy.

 

There hadn’t been a peep from the unmanned aerial incursion of Lateverian construction—and really, von Doom needed to man the hell up and admit they were his—in three weeks.

 

And, most importantly, he’d had a _wonderful_ morning with Darcy before Jane dragged his girlfriend to the lap.

 

Perched on the back of the couch in the living room, Clint was fast-forwarding through commercials in a DVR’d episode of Dog Cops when he heard the echo of the elevator chime.

 

He looked up, brows flying to his hairline when he spied Darcy carrying a massive bag from Petco.

 

And, the hell?

 

No one in the building _owned_ a pet.

 

“Darce?”

 

Eeping, she shoved the bag behind her back, “Hi babe, what’s going on?” She looked beyond him to the television. “Is that a new Dog Cops? Are you seriously watching without _me_? Not cool.”

 

He rolled his eyes, “It’s a rerun.”

 

“Oh good!”

 

“You going to tell me what’s in the bag?”

 

Darcy’s free hand flew behind her back and he could hear the crinkle of plastic as she fisted the object in question in both hands, “A couple things. Nothing important Hawkman.”  


“And you lie just was well as you hack.”

 

Mock gasping, she crossed the room and put a hand on his cheek, “It’s a good thing you’re cute,” she smacked a kiss to his mouth and tapped his cheekbone just under the cut he had to superglue together when he was on assignment in Uruguay the week before.

 

Smirking, he put his hands on her cheeks, “And then there’s that thing I can do with my tongue.”

  
He kissed her again, running his tongue against the seam of her lips and coaxing her mouth open, and distantly he heard the bag fall from her hands with a rattle before she settled them on his shoulders, moving closer with a quiet moan.

 

She pulled back reluctantly, and Clint knew her head was spinning as he chased her lips, “Stop it, you,” she murmured as her eyes fluttered open.

 

“Don’t see why,” he tried for her lips again, but grazed her cheek as she tilted her head. “Nothing going on this afternoon.”

 

“I have to do a thing.”

 

Clint favored her with a pointed look before he glanced down at the bag lying at her feet, “ _A thing_.”

 

Before he could peak inside, she swept off the floor, “I’ll catch you later hot shot.”

 

Darcy dashed out of the room, and he watched her go with an absolutely stupid look on her face.

 

It had taken them a long time to get to where they were now, going their separate ways after the incident in New Mexico, and then falling back into one another’s circles years later.

 

These days, everyone living in the Tower on top of each other, he was beginning to have some serious feelings starting with the letter L.

 

And then there was the fact that he wasn’t scared shitless.

 

But never once had she been evasive before.

 

Shaking his head, he slid down on the cushions, flipped the remote from hand to hand, and went back to the episode.

 

It was probably nothing.

 

-

“ _That’s_ why you didn’t want to come with me tonight?” Natasha kicked Clint under the table. “You need to get your priorities straight Barton.”

 

“Ow! Tasha!” He yelped, but thankfully the noises in the new Polynesian-fusion restaurant they were eating at muffled the sound. “And my priorities are _fine_ thank you very much. It was _weird_.”

 

He relayed the Petco Bag Mystery to his partner while they did recon—also known as trying every single thing on the menu to see what they liked best, a tradition that persisted since before Budapest.

 

It was probably the best part of their constantly evolving friendship.

 

With long red hair like she had back when she was evaluating Stark, Natasha smirked around a bite of red curry chicken samosa, “I hate to break it to you, Barton, but _Darcy_ is weird.”

 

He narrowed his eyes as he stuffed another bite of macadamia crusted Mahi-Mahi in his mouth to keep from saying something that would get him kicked again, and Natasha rolled hers back, “Not that it’s a bad thing,” she went on. “But her entire friendship with Thor is based on the fact that she hit him with a car and tased him when they first met.”

 

“So what? I _shot_ you.”

 

She flicked her manicured fingers—blood color, how appropriate—in his direction as she sipped her Mai Tai, “ _Details_ darling. The real question is what you’re going to _do_ with this mystery of hers.”

 

“Well, I figured I’d start by _asking_ her.”

 

“You mean you’re not going to creep in the air ducts above her apartment, _again_?”

 

“Damn it that was _once_! Let it go.”

 

She grabbed her phone off the table and snapped a picture of him before he could react, “Not when you keep making those faces.”

 

“I _hate_ you.”

 

-

“Agent Barton, I believe it would behoove you to knock.”

 

He arched a brow and actually looked at the security camera at the end of the hall, “On my girlfriend’s door? What, is she plotting world domination and _doesn’t_ want my help?”

 

“Not that I’m aware of.”

 

“Is the planning that surprise birthday party she and Stark think I don’t know about? And if she is, please tell them I’d _love_ a vodka fountain.”

 

“Not at the moment, but I will keep your request under advisement.”

 

He rolled his eyes, “Is she having a threesome with Stark and Banner? Steve and Hill? Hill and _Foster_?”

 

“No,” the best part was how JARVIS sounded like he was ten thousand percent done right now, and Clint’s chest puffed out a bit with pride that he was one of the few people who could ruffle the AI’s feathers. “She is not, Agent Barton.”

 

“Then _why_ do I need to knock?”

 

JARVIS actually sighed, “Oh just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

“Sure man,” he rolled his eyes as he placed his hand on the scanner next to the door, and it read the lines on his palm before allowing him access with a quiet click.

 

He pushed the door all the way open.

 

And then he froze.

  
Darcy was sitting on the couch, and he watched as she threw a piece of something small in an arc toward the coffee table, and Clint gaped as a _pile of bones_ laughed off the small square bed, snatching it out of the air before it resettled with an echoing rattle.

 

A noise clawed its way out of his throat, and Darcy looked over to the door, “Hi babe. How was dinner? Tasha texted me that picture of your face. What did she say to you this time?”

 

His jaw dropped as he narrowed his focus to the bones as they resettled on the pile of plush white fabric with blue and purple polka dots scattered across the surface.

 

It was _moving_.

 

“Please tell me you’re not making a ritual sacrifice to a cat demon.”

 

“Well that answers that,” she murmured with a smirk before she stood and gestured to the creature on the table. “No Clint, I am not making a ritual sacrifice. This is cat death. She likes to crash with me from time to time.”

 

The creature’s tiny claws peaked over the side of the bed as it moved, whipping the links of its bone tail around its body, and beyond it, Clint could see the blade of a tiny scythe lying on top of a neatly folded pile of black fabric.

 

“You’re friends with _cat death_?”

 

She nodded like he asked if she liked PopTarts, “Yes. Her name is Fluffy.”

 

All he could do was gape.

 

“ _Fluffy_?”

 

“Yep.”

 

He narrowed his eyes and looked around, “Is this a prank? Where’s Stark hiding.”

 

The creature let out a quiet yowl, and Clint jumped as Darcy looked down at it with a quiet chuckle, “Yes Fluffy, this is the genius with whom I have chosen to attempt a mature, adult relationship with.”

 

“ _Darcy_.”

 

“What? You take crazy space aliens falling from a portal _right above this building_ , but it’s a _no_ to one of the shepherds of the underworld?”

 

“It’s just, uh,” he made a defenseless gesture with his hands. “It has _whiskers_ , Darcy, but no _skin_.”

 

She shrugged and walked over to him, hesitating before she curled her fingers around his arm, “That’s kind of how it works.”

 

“But-”

 

He broke off, and Darcy put a hand on his cheek and drew his attention away fro the table, “You with me?”

 

“But _how_?”

 

She gently tugged him over to the couch, “Well,” she drawled. “It all started when I was eight, and our family cat, aptly named Kitty, because contrary to how I am, my parents had no imagination, was dying.”

 

-

“Come on Kitty,” an eight-year-old Darcy’s tiny hand shook as she pushed the small green treat at the black and gray tabby’s mouth. “Have a treat Kitty.”

 

Kitty’s whiskers twitched, and its eyes were half closed, but she didn’t take the bait, and Darcy huffed, her lower lip stuck out in a pout as she slipped the treat back in the bag.

 

Wrinkling her nose, Darcy ran her hand down the old cat’s side, her other elbow propped on her knee and her chin on her palm as she sat cross-legged on the center of her bed.

 

It had taken her pitching a fit to convince her parents to let Kitty sleep in her room before they took her to the vet to put the cancer-ridden feline to sleep, but Kitty had been with her since she was _born_.

 

Darcy sniffled, and then narrowed her eyes when she spied movement in the shadows to the right of her bed.

 

It was small enough that it probably wasn’t the monster hiding behind the creepy door in the back of her closet that Mommy said led to the attic, but-

 

Then, a cat, the same size as Kitty, jumped out of the shadows and onto Darcy’s pillow with a rattle, and she watched as one of Kitty’s big green eyes opened, blinked once, and then slipped shut.

 

Gasping, Darcy looked at the bones, a scythe between its teeth half shrouded by its tattered robe, “What are you?”

 

The other cat’s whiskers twitched, and then she dropped the scythe from is tiny mouth, and when it looked up, Darcy could see that it didn’t have eyes, just fathomless holes with tiny white sparks glowing in the center.

 

And just like that, she knew.

 

-

“So _Fluffy_ just,” Clint spared another skeptical look back at the cat. “Stayed with you?”

 

“For a while,” she shrugged. “Mom and Dad didn’t see Kitty die, so they couldn’t see Fluffy, apparently that’s a rule or something. They thought I made up an imaginary friend to cope. They humored me and kept giving me the treats Fluffy liked so much for a while, but when they stopped, she left.”

 

The tiny sparks in Fluffy’s eyes were _definitely_ boring into him, and Clint shifted closer to Darcy and looked away, “And she’s been in and out of your life ever since? Doesn’t she have, _harvesting_ to do or something?”

 

Fluffy let out a yowl that sounded, pointed?

 

Darcy laughed, grabbing another treat and tossing it on the table, “Fluffy is just like Cap, she does what she wants. Last time she came around was when we were still in London.”

 

He watched as Fluffy’s paw scraped against the table, and she grabbed the treat in her claws and put it in her mouth.

 

“How does that even _work_?”

 

Chuckling again, Darcy curled an arm around his and moved closer, “Jane’s been trying to convince Fluffy to explain it to her. You know how she gets with a mystery, but thankfully she’s got the Bifrost and Tony to keep her occupied.”

  
“ _Jane_ knows?”

 

Darcy leaned up and kissed his cheek, trying to sooth the affronted look on his face, “Fluffy felt the disturbance in the force when we figured out my Intern was less mediocre boyfriend and more psycho Nazi terrorist.

 

Shaking his head, Clint continued to gape, “I just don’t-”

 

She ran her hand down his cheek, “Apparently she and Thor go way back, like way, _way_ back. He tried to explain it to me, but could only do it in the form of epic poem, so I accidentally passed out on him.”

 

Clint took a deep breath, and Darcy could see the cogs working in his mind as he tried to find something to say, but fell very, very short.

 

“I know it’s a lot to take in.”

 

He sighed, “You know,” he finally managed with a weak laugh. “I’m kind of a dog person.”

 

Swinging her leg over his lap, Darcy straddled him and touched her forehead to his, “Well at least she doesn’t shed or anything,” she laughed and kissed him, soft and quick. “Thanks for sort of being okay with this.”

 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” He arched a brow, his hands settling on her hips and pulled her closer.

 

She kissed him again, “ _Yes_ , I would have, you sill man,” she rolled off him and stood up, holding out a hand. "Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

 

“Darce, it’s not even ten.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she tugged him up, and he willingly rolled to his feet, “I didn’t say _to sleep_ ,” she smirked and tossed the bag of treats onto the coffee table. “Night Fluffy.”

 

They were halfway down the hall when Clint tugged her against him and pushed her up against the wall, mouthing down the side of her neck.

 

“Oh, and by the way,” her voice was breathy as she tugged the hair at the nape of his neck, urging him to look up at her. “If I was going to have a threesome with any two people in the building, it’s Pepper and Tasha or bust. Not that I ever _will_ , so you can drag your brain right back to reality, baby.”

 

“There’s a _skeleton cat_ in your living room.”

 

“I know, baby,” she kissed him again, jumping up and wrapping her legs around his hips, and he caught her, because being with a former circus performer had _serious_ perks. “Come on.”

 

-

“Darce, I _swear_ it’s staring at me.”

 

With an exaggerated sigh, Darcy pushed him off her, rolling them over and straddling his bare hips, “First, Fluffy is a _she_ , and second, she doesn’t even have _eyes_. Also, she’s in the other room _and_ down the hall.”

 

His eyes crossed in the dimness with her breasts shifted, but a poke to his nose sent him back to reality, “But she’s _definitely_ judging me.”

 

“No worse than Thor when you asked his permission to date me.”

 

“But-”

 

She rolled her eyes, “How about _I_ do that thing with _my_ tongue and take your mind off things?”

 

Clint’s eyes lit up, and Darcy rolled hers right back as she shifted down the bed, “You are _so_ lucky you’re cute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Love it? Hate it? Wondering what the heck 47 was thinking when she wrote this?
> 
> Drop a line in the comments, I love hearing from you.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Sixty Three: “You sounded like you thought you were being stabbed in the back, but then realized it was just a plastic fork.” 
> 
> “I was jumpy, we almost died!”


	7. D is for Darcy (no, not me, Darcy, THAT Darcy) (Bucky/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But you’re Darcy.”
> 
> “No, no, that’s Darcy,” she shook her head so hard her hair flipped over her shoulders.
> 
> “I thought I had the monopoly on identity issues around here.”
> 
> “No, you don’t get it, that IS Darcy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playing so fast and loose with timelines here, it’s not even funny. Just go with it.
> 
> Also, if you haven’t watched the Lizzie Bennet Diaries yet, get thee to YouTube, stat. It will change your life. Also, this was actually first written two weeks ago, but I figured I’d save it for the anniversary of the LBD fandom’s Darcy Day.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Sixty Six: “If I start leaking blood from my eyeballs, I am going to come back and haunt you so hard.”

**D is for Darcy (no, not me, Darcy, THAT Darcy) (Bucky/Darcy)**

-

The very second the calendar flipped from September to October—a night where the entire team was gathered in the penthouse for their semi-weekly dinner and video games binge—Darcy and Stark started shouting about waking Green Day up.

 

Though, _why_ some punk-rock band needed waking, Bucky didn’t know, and was definitely _not_ about to ask.

 

Five minutes later, Halloween exploded into the common areas of the Tower.

 

Sometimes literally, though Bucky really shouldn’t have been blamed for shooting at the cackling and dancing skeleton that dropped from the ceiling as he was waking into the living room sometime in the middle of the afternoon of the second day of the month.

 

Tony _really_ should have known better.

 

But there were decorations just about everywhere, and Bucky was pretty sure they were _multiplying_.

 

Some were curated by Pepper’s meticulous eye, and were actually very tasteful, while the rest came from the so-called man of the house who—among _so_ many other things— _insisted_ that each and every doorway just _had_ to be framed with spider webs.

 

To add to the damn ambiance.

 

But these were _not_ the cheap cotton kind of spider webs, Bucky was sure this shit—which got stuck in the narrow gaps of his arm’s plating like _nothing else_ —was dreamed up in the lab one night when Tony and Bruce were without supervision.

 

They should never _ever_ be in the lab without supervision.

 

By this point, three weeks into the month, Bucky was resisting the urge to pick a fight with Steve—about anything really, the Dodgers leaving New York, Hydra, Steve’s terrible habit of throwing himself out of the Quinjet without a parachute—and _accidentally_ destroy the room in collateral damage.

 

But the last thing he needed was for anyone to think he’d been triggered and take him down.

 

Like Natasha.

 

Or Thor.

 

Or _Pepper_.

 

So he refrained.

 

He’d been doing so well anyway.

 

Busy picking the thin, sticky strands out of his arm as he walked into the kitchen, the first thing he saw was the center island, covered in a massive cornucopia of pumpkins and squashes and corn and a number of foods that he was pretty sure didn’t _exist_ when he and Steve were growing up.

 

The pile was so huge that he almost missed Darcy, who was perched on one of the stools at the far end, bent over her sticker-covered laptop, the white of her headphones shining from her ears as she stared intently at _something_ on the screen.

 

She was so absorbed she didn’t notice him come in.

 

Not that his ego was so huge these days, but that _never_ happened.

 

Shaking his head, he brushed the clump of sticky strands off his hand and into the trash before rifling through the refrigerator, searching for the leftover orange chicken from dinner the night before.

 

As he shoved the container of beef and broccoli—covered with tiny spiders drawn in purple pen—out of the way, Darcy let out an ear-splitting squeak, and he jerked up, his head bashing against the upper shelf, “Shit!”

 

He whirled around, one hand rubbing the back of his head—the milk shelf was _heavy_ —his brows hiked up to his hairline when he saw Darcy sitting up straight, her wide eyes glued to the image on her laptop and her hands clapped over her mouth, “ _Oh. My. God_.”

 

“Darce? What’s wrong?”

 

She kept gaping at the screen, “Oh my god that’s Darcy!” She squealed.

 

“Pretty sure _you’re_ Darcy.”

 

The Darcy he was pretty sure was _his_ Darcy jumped so badly she nearly fell off her stool, flinging her headphones away, “Oh my _god_ , when did you get in here?” She screeched.

 

He favored her with a pointed look, and she waved it off, “So you caught me off guard. It happens, but _whatever_ , because _oh my god_ , that’s Darcy!” She gestured back to the computer, and he could see a paused YouTube video on screen.

 

“But _you’re_ Darcy.”

 

“No, no, _that’s_ Darcy,” she shook her head so hard her hair flipped over her shoulders.

 

“I thought I had the monopoly on identity issues around here.”

 

“No, you don’t get it, _that is Darcy_.”

 

Bucky’s eyebrow twitched, and he was seconds away from getting JARVIS to call Jane.

 

Because apparently his person—he was still hesitant to use the world _girlfriend_ , because there were still so many days where he did quiet know which way was up—had finally gone off the deep end.

 

He took a closer look at the video, “That’s some guy’s torso.”

 

“Yes, _Darcy’s torso. Oh my god!_ Lizzie has only been bitching about this guy since Episode Six, _Snobby Mr. Douchey_ , was posted back in April. April Bucky! We’ve literally been trapped in suspense for _months_.”

 

“I have,” he cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

 

Something that happened a little too often for his tastes.

 

Darcy rolled her eyes, “That’s because you keep ducking me or, even better, distracting me when I try to introduce you to the parts of the Internet that aren’t news-based or your weird little hacking sites. Or ESPN.com. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

 

Without look at all apologetic, he shrugged, and then gestured wordlessly to the computer.

 

“ _Lizzie_ ,” Darcy huffed, leaning the screen back so he could get a better view. “Is Lizzie Bennet, and she’s from this small town in central California. Since like, March, she’s been posting video blog about her life and her crazy mother, who totally takes all the cake from _my_ crazy mother, by the way, her two perfect sisters, and these super wealthy people who moved to town one day, which includes William Darcy, who we have _never_ seen before this moment, and oh. My. God.”

 

“And you watch this because,” he trailed off as he looked at the image frozen on screen of a redhead wearing a dark gray patterned dress, and she was staring at a man wear black slacks and a red shirt.

 

“Oh my god Bucky, I don’t even know right now, but what the hell happened next? Cliffhangers are the worst, the absolute _worst_. Oh my god, is it Thursday yet? I _need_ it to be Thursday more than I need air.”

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true.”

 

“You so don’t get it,” she narrowed her eyes as she grabbed the plate of gourmet pumpkin chocolate chip cookies off the island, handing off to him as she scooped up her computer and her phone. “But you will. Come on, I’ll totally make it worth your while.”

 

He snorted, “You better.”

 

The smirk was still plastered to her face as she leaned up and kissed his cheek, and Bucky let her take him by his metal hand as she led him to the elevator, and then to the apartment she shared with Thor and Jane.

 

And Bucky was pretty sure he was going to regret this.

 

-

**Five months later**

 

“Oh my god! Bucky come quick!”

 

Rolling his eyes, he favored his reflection with a bland look as he tightened his towel around his hips and made his way from his bathroom to the living room, arching a brow at Darcy.

 

Because _his_ Darcy was sitting on the couch, rocking back and forth and squealing happily as she stared down at the computer resting on her knees.

 

He sighed as he rested one shoulder against the doorframe, “What happened to the Bennet girl this time?”

 

Darcy’s eyes were bright, and she let out another high squeak, “ _It wasn’t the Chinese food!_ ”

 

“What?”

 

She waved a hand in front of her face, which was turning redder and redder by the second as her excitement grew, “He came _back_!”

 

Bucky took a deep, patient breath, “Darcy, you mean?”

 

She nodded with so much force he thought her head was going to fly off, and then stopped abruptly, “You are naked.”

 

“We _really_ need to work on your observational skills.”

 

Slowly, she unclenched her fists and carefully placed the computer on the coffee table, “I can observe _just fine_ ,” she stalked across the room, drawing one hand down the center of his chest before she settled it on his towel. “But _oh my god,_ it needs to be Monday, like _now,_ because Darcy is _back_!”

 

Bucky’s hands framed her face and he gently touched his forehead against hers, “ _Focus_ Darcy.”

 

She tipped her head up and ran her nose against the side of his, “We’re not going to make those dinner plans with Thor and Jane, are we?” She murmured against his mouth.

 

“Probably not,” he kissed her, hard and quick, pushing her up against the doorframe until she broke away with a gasp.

 

“You, you definitely owe me,” she breathed hard as she finally got the better of his towel and pushed it away.

 

“I’ll order you Chinese,” he growled and kissed her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Love it? Hate it? Wondering what the heck 47 was thinking when she wrote this?
> 
> Drop a line in the comments, I love hearing from you.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Sixty Six: “If I start leaking blood from my eyeballs, I am going to come back and haunt you so hard.”


	8. L is for Location (Clint/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh my god, did Steve just rip a log in half with his bare hands? I so have to tweet that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jumping on the holy-shit-Clint-Barton-owns-a-farm bandwagon. Because wow. 
> 
> Thanks Marvel.
> 
> This one is a little more raw than the others, and also takes a LOT of liberties with AOU and that snippet we got last week from the Phase 3 unveiling.
> 
> P.S. Might be a little while before another one. Not only am I working on the last movement of my in-progress long fic (coming soon to a computer near you), but I'm moving next week, and haven't packed yet.
> 
> Oops.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Seventy Two: "Why aren't you afraid of me?" 
> 
> "Seriously? I have worse nightmares about failing AP Chem."

**L is for Location (Clint/Darcy)**

-

“Oh my god, did Steve just rip a log in half _with his bare hands_? I _so_ have to tweet that.”

 

Sitting on an overturned crate on the front porch, Clint put down the screwdriver he was using to find the mechanism in the base of quiver that kept sticking and reached for his sidearm.

 

He stood up slowly, narrowing his eyes at the pair of women making their way up the dirt path toward the house.

 

They both had bags in hand, and the skinny brunette wearing a _way_ oversized plaid shirt smacked the other woman on the arm, “Don’t even think about it, Darcy!”

 

“Darcy? Doc Foster?”

 

“There’s my favorite jackbooted thug!” Darcy called, waving a hand as she grabbed Jane’s arm with the other and tugged her ahead. “This place is so country chic, I love it!”

 

Shoving the Glock into the back of his jeans, Clint grabbed a rag and wiped his hands off on it as he met them at the bottom of the stairs, saw out of the corner of his eye that Steve and Tony had abandoned their argument and were coming over too, “What are you doing here?”

 

Jane pulled her phone out of her pocket, “Thor and that Wanda woman came by the other day,” she consulted something on the screen. “He said, and I quote, ‘my shield brethren and I have retreated from the battle with the creature Ultron, but we require assistance at Hawkeye’s residence’. So here we are.”

 

“I asked why Stark couldn’t just hire some caterers,” Darcy piped up.

 

“And Thor said that you were trying to stay _under the radar_ ,” Jane finished, and then elbowed Darcy again. “Which is why you _can’t_ Instagram a video of Steve ripping another log in half. _Seriously_.”

 

She looked exasperated, but fond, as she talked to the brunette Clint had dealt with all those years ago in New Mexico.

 

He shook himself out of the memories of those dusty winter days, “Well that was nice of him.”

 

With a roll of her eyes and a fake sigh, Darcy waved a hand, “So show me the kitchen. I can’t believe you guys have been here for what, a week now? What have you even been eating?”

 

“Omelets. Lots and lots of omelets,” Tony grumbled, and Steve looked sheepish as he made a sound in agreement, as if he was worried that he was going to insult Clint with his opinion.

 

Even he never wanted to look at an egg again.

 

 _Ever_.

 

She and Jane looked at each other and winced, “Yikes,” Darcy muttered as she edged away from them, “Oh my god, is that a barn? Dude, how did we not know about this before now?”

 

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose, “So many reasons, Lewis. So many.”

 

“Do you have chickens here? Cows? Oh my god, can I go horseback riding?”

 

Jane sighed, “Darcy,” she called out. “That vein in his forehead is starting to do that throbbing thing again. The last time that happened I think he got Coulson to reassign him to Erik.”

 

“Oh, sorry!”

 

-

“Agent Barton?”

 

Hours later, after a dinner that had no eggs in it _what so ever_ , Clint looked up from the fire he was stoking in the pit outside, “Not an agent anymore, Doc. You can call me Clint.”

 

Jane tugged her flannel tighter around her, “And you can call me Jane,” she stepped off the porch. “Tell me really, are you guys all right? Thor didn’t have time to tell us before he and Wanda had to leave. Who _is_ Wanda anyway?”

 

“She’s one of us,” he said, then shook his head. “And we’re, we should be fine, I guess.”

 

With a derisive snort, she sat down on the empty chair to his right, “Not instilling a lot of confidence there, Barton.”

 

“Things have been,” he swallowed and poked at the fire. “Difficult.”

 

She hummed, but didn’t say anything else as she shifted closer to the fire, her hands hovering over the flames.

 

Looking down at the stick he held, he shifted it from one hand to the other before he looked back up, “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“ _Why_ are you and Darcy here?”

 

She smiled as she met his gaze, “Usually I’d worry that being closer to you guys would put us in more danger, but right now, Darcy needs something to focus on more.”

 

He tilted his head, eyebrow arched in askance.

 

“You didn’t hear?”

 

“I’ve been a little, well, self-focused lately.”

 

“So Erik said,” Jane’s smile faded a little bit. “Anyway, we found out that Ian, the intern Darcy brought in when we were in London was actually a Hydra plant. She’s not really taking it well.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Jane sighed, leaning back and looking up at the blanket of stars overhead, “Is it bad that I’m wasn’t at all surprised? At least _you_ were a known entity.”

 

Eyes flaring wide, Clint looked at her, and then flinched away from her knowing smirk, “I uh, I didn’t know you knew.”

 

“I’m absentminded, not stupid, Clint,” she laughed when his shoulders tensed and waved a hand. “When we were in Tromso, we had a lot of downtime, so we talked. She was worried about you.”

 

He hung his head, tossing the stick in the fire, “Yeah,” he tried to come up with something else to say, but words failed him. “Yeah.”

 

They sat in silence for long minutes, Jane looking back up at the stars while Clint looked back at the house, could see the flicker of movement in the windows that led to the sitting room.

 

“Doc, Jane, I’m-”

 

“Hey,” she cut him off gently. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

 

Sighing, he pushed off the chair and rounded the fire pit, stopping when Jane put a hand on his arm, “Darcy isn’t either. None of what happened was your fault. _None_ of it.”

 

Clint patted her hand before he stuffed his in his pockets, “Maybe I’ll believe that one day.”

 

Shoulders hunched, he made his way inside, and Natasha was leaning against the back of the couch, one arm wrapped around her waist as she held the other out to him.

 

“Yeah Tasha?” He murmured as she reeled him in, curling one arm around his neck and he rested his head on her shoulder.

 

She squeezed his neck, “You look like you needed a hug.”

 

A heavy sigh rumbled through his chest, “Foster is very smart. I don’t like it.”

 

“She told you what I’ve been trying to tell you for years. I _love_ it.”

 

He huffed and tried to pull away, but she held firm, the hand on his neck squeezing almost to the point of pain until he let up, “You’re supposed to be my _friend_ ,” he whined, trying to poke her side, but she intercepted with her other hand and bent his finger back. “Ow!”

 

Eventually, Natasha put her hands on either side of his head, gently urging him off her shoulder, and she pressed her lips to his forehead, “Talk to Darcy,” she tapped her forehead against his. “You’ll feel better.”

 

He glanced over to the kitchen, and he could see Tony’s back where he sat at the table, facing his tablet as he talked to someone, probably Pepper, “She’s up in my room.”

 

“Yeah,” he nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay.”

 

-

There was a big, _gargantuan_ really, bed in the guest room at the end of the hall, where she and Jane were crashing with Natasha, because Clint’s house was big, but not _that_ big.

 

Darcy was lying down on the right side, staring up at the ceiling and counting the thin spider web cracks and imperfections in the wood.

 

She’d retreated to relative solitude not long after dinner, the tense undercurrent of everyone downstairs sending flares of worry and discomfort deep in the pit of her stomach.

 

Like it wasn’t enough that she was still freaking out about the Intern.

 

Now _that_ was a fuckup of monumental proportions.

 

Sighing, she rolled onto her side and tugged the sleeve of her sweater back, revealing the angry pair of red marks on the inside of her right arm from her own taser.

 

She ran her fingers over the wounds, tensing when she ran them over a particularly tender spot.

 

A knock on the door tore her from her musings, and she tugged her sweater back down as she sat up, “Yeah?”

 

The door opened enough for Clint to poke his head inside, “Can I come in.”

 

She nodded and drew her legs up as she rested against the headboard, “Spoiler alert: it’s _your_ house. Because you own a house. And _farmland_.”

 

Laughing quietly, he edged inside and leaned against the wall, letting the door shut next to him, “Still trying to wrap your head around it?”

 

“ _Dude_.”

 

He chuckled again, and then shook his head before he looked up finally met her gaze, “Hi.”

 

Darcy smiled, her nose wrinkling impishly, “Hey there, stranger. How’ve you been?”

 

“I’ve had my fair share of ups and downs lately, actually,” he shot back easily. “Got brainwashed, company I worked for went under, _fucking giant homicidal robots._ ”

 

Pressing a hand to her mouth to control her giggles, she shook her head, “All things considered, gotta say, you don’t look too terrible.”

 

Clint crossed the room, arching a brow for permission and waiting or Darcy’s answering nod before he perched on the bed a foot from her feet, “How are you doing?”

 

She rolled her eyes, “Janey told you, didn’t she?” She waved a hand in dismissal before he could say anything. “So you know. And it sucked. Whatever.”

 

“Whatever?”

 

Darcy nodded hard, and then looked away, her vacant gaze slipping over to the half-open window, “I actually, uh, tried to call you,” she murmured. “When we were in Norway.”

 

“I used that phone to call terrorists when I was,” he swallowed hard. “Brainwashed. You know that, right?”

 

“Thor told me,” she was nodding slowly as she picked at her cuticles. “I wasn’t really sure if you were going to be happy to see me. If I were you, I’d want to put what Mr. It’s All About Me did to you behind you. _Way_ behind you. Wanda told me I was being an idiot.”

 

Flinching, Clint reached out and curled his fingers around her ankle, scooting closer as he stroked his thumb back and forth toward the arch of her foot, “Natasha told me the same thing.”

 

Darcy finally looked up, searching his eyes before she smiled thinly, and he shook his head as he stood, “Shove over,” he muttered, toeing off his shoes and kicking them under the bed as she shifted over toward the middle.

 

Stretching out next to her, he curled his arm around her shoulders and tugged her against his side, “I’m sorry Darcy,” he murmured, his free hand drawing patterns on the knee pressed next to his hip.

 

She tilted her head, leaning back slightly so she could look him in the eye, “For _what_?”

 

“It’s not that I didn’t think about you, didn’t _want_ to see you, I just-”

 

“You don’t need to apologize,” she cut him off, curling closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. “I knew what I was getting into when I bought you that beer.”

 

Clint shook his head, then pressed his lips to her hairline, “No you didn’t.”

 

“Don’t argue with me,” she poked his side.

 

He grabbed her wrist, dropping it like it burned him when she let out a pained hiss, “Darcy?”

 

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” she murmured as she drew her right arm against her middle. “I’m fine.”

 

“ _Darcy_.”

 

She huffed, knocking her head against his shoulder before she let her arm flop against his stomach, and he gently pulled her sleeve back, a breath hissing between his teeth at the marks, “Darce?”

 

Darcy scowled hard, “Asshole got to my taser before I could. Jane had to knock him out with a microscope.”

 

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest as he gently lifted her wrist and pressed a kiss to her pulse point, “Sorry. It’s not much, but, yeah.”

 

“Such words from the man who once seduced me into his shitty hotel room.”

 

He snorted, his fingers sliding from her wrist to lace with hers, their joined hands resting on his chest, “Wasn’t hard.”

 

“Clint Barton, did you just call me easy?”

 

“ _Never_.”

 

She smirked, turning her head to kiss his shoulder, “ _Sure_ you didn’t.”

 

An easy silence fell over the room as they listened to the sound of the house and the rest of its occupants as they settled in for the evening, Clint’s thumb running up and down the curve of her shoulder.

 

“Hey Darcy?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m glad you’re here.”

 

Smiling, she leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth before she resettled, “Me too.”

 

At some point later that night, Jane came in from her stargazing, took one look at them curled up and dozing, and shook her head before she grabbed her bag, turning off the lights and slipping back into the hall.

 

Distantly, Clint heard the quiet tones of Natasha’s voice before a pair of footsteps faded in the direction of his bedroom.

 

Darcy murmured in her sleep, and he ran his hand up and down her back until she resettled, throwing one leg over his with a sleepy sigh while he curled closer to her.

 

He pressed his lips to her temple, breathing in the scent of her shampoo as he let himself fall asleep.

 

-

Clint felt a lot lighter as he downed the last of his coffee at breakfast the next morning, the rest of the team finishing their breakfasts at the oversized table.

 

“Hey guys,” Darcy swung in on the doorframe, her other hand free of the plate she’d taken to Bruce, who was camping out, alone, one the edge of the property. “Is there supposed to be some dude with a metal arm lurking in the hay loft? Because there totally is.”

 

Steve’s mug fell from his hand, ceramic shattering and coffee splattering all over the floor.

 

“ _What?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Love it? Hate it? Wondering what the heck 47 was thinking when she wrote this?
> 
> Drop a line in the comments, I love hearing from you.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Seventy Two: "Why aren't you afraid of me?" 
> 
> "Seriously? I have worse nightmares about failing AP Chem."


	9. T is for Timeline (Bucky/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...All I get from him is that constipated lemur look before he runs into the other room. It’s like clockwork, dude.”
> 
> “It’s nothing against you.”
> 
> Darcy waved a hand, “Hey, if it’s going to help him get better, he can do whatever the hell he wants. I’m not offended that he’s not ready for my awesome. It takes time for me to grow on some people.”
> 
> “Like a fungus.”
> 
> Her eyes lit up, “There the sassy captain we all know and love!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta say, I'm REALLY pretty proud of this one.
> 
> And for anyone whose interested, I've got a bit of a plot bunny involving this storyline and the soulmates!verse, so be on the lookout for an expanded remix of this story at some time in the future.
> 
> Might be not until after the holiday though, because apparently I'm also writing a 'Darcy gets conned into taking Bucky home for Chanukah' fic for the holidays. The tumblr-verse seems pretty stoked for it.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Eighty: “How drunk were you last night?” 
> 
> “Well, I still have my pants on, so not that drunk?” 
> 
> “Those aren’t your pants.”

**T is for Timeline (Bucky/Darcy)**

-

Steve flinched as Jane heaved a heavy reference book in the air with enough force and accuracy that it clipped Tony’s shoulder, and then she lifted up onto her toes, her index finger poking against his chest as she continued with the minutes-long tirade she'd been working up to the last few days.

 

The lab’s locked glass doors muffled Jane’s high voice as she pivoted away from Tony, snatching a screwdriver from the table at her side before she stomped over to her allocated corner of lab space and started fiddling with a piece of metal and wires resting on a small platform.

 

Movement flickered in the corner of his eye, and Steve tilted his head enough that he could see Bucky watching as Tony threw his hands up in the air before he swung one of the hanging monitors in front of him and poked at it irritably.

 

It was almost as if Bucky hadn’t moved an inch over the last eight days, his arms still over his chest and his blue eyes narrowed to slits as he watched Jane and Tony as they worked.

 

The pair of scientists had been going non-stop ever since Darcy went missing.

 

Eight days ago, they were testing a device recovered from an abandoned Hydra outpost—one Bucky tracked and led the team to as part of his single-handed attempt to destroy anyone who had anything to do with the Winter Soldier—and Darcy got caught when it suddenly exploded.

 

And then she _and_ the device disappeared.

 

Steve wasn’t sure why Bucky was standing there, still standing there, _unendingly continued to stand in that one same spot_.

 

He wasn’t offering any explanations.

 

And the most baffling part was that Bucky never even _talked_ to Darcy.

 

-

**Ten Days Ago**

Darcy padded barefoot into the kitchen that morning, grinning when she saw Steve sitting at the table, but then she paused and frowned when she took in the look on his face, “You know, I’m pretty sure there’s laws against Captain America looking so morose.”

 

He snorted; finally looking up from the mug of coffee he was contemplating life, the universe, and everything into, “Good morning Darcy.”

 

Her grin returned to its usual brightness as she made her way over to the coffeemaker, “Is everything all right?”

 

Steve sighed, “It’s fine. Bucky’s just-” he broke off and shook his head. “Never mind.”

 

“Ah, everyone’s first and-slash-or second favorite sort-of-Russian assassin,” pride fluttered in her chest when the corner of Steve’s mouth ticked up. “ _Is_ he doing all right?”

 

His jaw ticked before he slowly turned in his chair and looked up at her as she leaned against the counter, “He asked me something strange last night. I don’t really know what to make of it, but it’s not the first time he’s said something that doesn’t quite make sense.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He asked me if there were any females on the Howling Commando team. I told him that Peggy worked with us from time to time when she wasn’t stateside, but then he asked if there were ever any more. I’m just, I don’t know if I even understand what he’s talking about.”

 

Darcy tilted her head, humming as she took a long sip of coffee, “His brain might still be scrambled, but at least he’s asking you about the past now. Also, he’s _talking_ to you period. All I get from him is that constipated lemur look before he runs into the other room. It’s like clockwork, dude.”

 

“It’s nothing against you.”

 

She waved a hand, “Hey, if it’s going to help him get better, he can do whatever the hell he wants. I’m not offended that he’s not ready for my awesome. It takes time for me to grow on some people.”

 

“Like a fungus.”

 

Her eyes lit up, “There the sassy captain we all know and love!”

 

-

**Now**

Sighing, Steve turned away from where Tony and Jane were now working together as they worked on soldering a pair of flat pieces together in attempt to recreate the device from the scans they took of it before is vanished, “Hey Bucky, you want me to get you something to eat?”

 

“I’m operational,” he muttered, his hands flexing tighter against his arms, and Steve was pretty sure he was going to leave bruises under his long-sleeved t-shirt. “I’m _fine_ Steve.”

 

Steve sighed again, and was about to turn toward the elevator when there was a flash and a concussive boom that threw Jane and Tony to opposite sides of the massive room, shaking the entire level.

 

And in the center, Steve saw two more bodies sprawled out on the floor.

 

“JARVIS, open the doors!”

 

-

**Somewhere Else**

“Are you ready?”

 

Crouching behind a bush, Darcy rubbed a hand over her dirt-streaked nose, shivering as a cold wind blew through the icy woods they were hiding in, “ _So_ ready MC,” she swallowed, her blue eyes flickering back and forth. “How much time do you think we have?”

 

“Not nearly enough, but if we don’t try now, you’re going to lose your chance,” it was almost funny how something so dire sounded even _worse_ with a British accent. “We won’t be able to keep this with us much longer, and we don’t have the resources to get it back again.”

 

Darcy glared down at the suitcase-sized bane of his existence as it rested innocently on the dirt and tree roots that were digging into her knees, “Don’t I know it. Will _you_ be all right though?”

 

“I can handle myself just fine. We just need to focus on getting _you_ back home.”

 

A twig snapped, and a low pop of gunfire echoed through the air, one after another after another and slowly getting louder.

 

“ _Now_ MC!”

 

Darcy’s companion cursed as she slapped her hand against the top of the console, and the lights on the sides light up as it whirred into a loud screech before a bang echoed through the trees.

 

A team of Hydra-clad commandos flooded into the clearing and a bullet whizzed past Darcy’s ear before something tugged sharply at her chest, making her breath catch, and a flare of white washed over the dim gray world.

 

-

Darcy’s head ached and spun and felt like it was going to split in half as she lay sprawled out across a cool, concrete surface, one arm tucked awkwardly under her body, and she groaned loudly.

 

Forcing her eyes open, her heart fluttered again as she recognized the familiar bottoms of the consoles in Tony’s lab, “Thank god,” she managed to gasp, her ears ringing as the floor tilted.

 

“Oh bloody _hell_ that was _awful_.”

 

With another groan, Darcy forced her arms to take her weight as she tried to push up, “I _so_ second that MC.”

 

Her head snapped toward the other voice, and dread pitted in her stomach as she saw her companion lying on her back, her dark brown hair half out of its bun and her chest heaving as she pressed her hands to her stomach. “Oh-oh my god, MC! _Shit!_ ”

 

Darcy’s eyes crossed, but she couldn’t say anything else as she pitched to the side and vomited up the remains of the meager amount of food in her stomach.

 

Choking on bile as she tried for force air in her lungs, Darcy fell back against the small hands that settled on her shoulders, strands of long brown hair that didn’t belong to her falling against her neck, “Jane,” her chest clenched hard and she coughed again. “Hi Jane. Hi, hi.”

 

“ _Darcy_ ,” Jane squeezed tighter as she helped her sit up and scooted her away from the puddle of sick. “Are you all right?”

 

She tipped her head back and looked up, meeting Jane’s wide-eyed gaze, “What-what," she coughed and dropped her head back down, swiping the back of her hand over her mouth. “What day is it?”

 

“You’ve been gone a little more than a week,” Jane looked at the other woman as Darcy’s curse echoed through the lab. “Who is-”

 

“ _Peggy_?”

 

Darcy blinked the bleariness from her eyes as she looked across the lab to where Steve and Bucky were frozen in the doorway, Steve’s gasp quickly followed by a similar inhalation from Tony, who looked dazed as he got up and staggered over.

The other woman braced her arm against her ribs as she slowly sat up, her eyes wide as she craned her head up at Steve, “Oh,” she whispered, going very, very pale. “Oh no, my name is Margaret.”

 

She blinked, and then coughed and ducked her head, “Captain,” she added and then looked at the man standing at his shoulder. “And James. Hello.”

 

Tony sputtered and dropped next to Darcy and Jane, his hands flying to her shoulders, “You brought someone _from the past_?” He flinched away when Jane smacked at his hands. “Do you have _any_ idea what this could do to the space-time continuum?”

 

Still coughing, Darcy flapped a hand as she fought to get her breath back, “ _Not_ past really,” she managed, pitching forward as she flapped her hand again, this time toward Margaret. “ _Eh_.”

 

“What Darcy is trying to say is that I’m not from _your_ past,” she flinched and pressed her right hand to her side, looking down and finding ashes scattered by her hips. “Oh, oh dear.”

 

“What is it?” Tony barked.

 

“The device,” she murmured as she ran her hand through the thick gray pile, and then rubbed her fingers together. “Or what’s left of it, I guess.”

 

Darcy winced as she slumped back against Jane, “Well. Well _shit._ ”

 

-

Perched on one of the lab tables with her legs lazily swinging back and forth, Darcy flinched away from the beam of light shining in her eyes, “Lay off Stark, I told you, I’m _fine_.”

 

“You threw up _in my lab_ ,” he frowned and consulted the tablet in his hand as he finally turned the light off. “And you’ve lost weight. Did they not feed you wherever you were? Starving guests is rude. Hell, I didn’t even starve that badly when I was in Afghanistan.”

 

“ _Why do you know how much I weigh?_ ”

 

“Darcy,” Jane admonished gently, her ears ringing from the screech. “We’ve been very worried about you.”

 

She pursed her lips, but let her shoulders drop, and Jane patted her shoulder before she realized just how dirty and wrinkled the clothes that were hanging off her really were, “What are you wearing?”

 

“My yoga pants didn’t exactly blend in with World War Two-era Europe,” she snapped and shared a comforting look with Margaret, who sat to Darcy’s left, her hands clenched around the damp rag she used to clean off her face and hands. “She said I looked ridiculous.”

 

Margaret winced as she glanced at Steve out of the corner of her eye, “I just didn’t want the Captain getting any ideas.”

 

“Ideas?”

 

Smirking, Darcy met Steve’s curious gaze as Margaret ducked her head again, “Alternate-universe you isn’t nearly as preciously virtuous as you are, Steve.”

 

Bucky led out a derisive snort—the first sound he made since things settled down a little bit more, and Darcy swallowed hard as she looked at him, tried to meet his gaze, but he stalwartly looked down at his feet.

 

With a sigh, she turned back to Jane, “I literally do not know how I ended up where I ended up, or how eight days here translated into eight months there. Either way, so not cool.”

 

“ _Eight months?_ ”

 

Jane put her hand on her shoulder when she winced, “We’re just happy you’re home safe, Darcy. We’ll figure everything else out in time,” her hand slipped to the side with Darcy’s oversized jacket, and her eyes went round. “Darcy, is that a _bullet wound_?”

 

She shrugged Jane’s hand away and covered the recently-healed wound back up with her shirt’s torn sleeve, “It’s fine,” she looked over Jane’s shoulder again and swallowed at the lump in her throat. “Some jackass sniper shot me.”

 

There was a crash.

 

Darcy looked up in time to see Bucky stare at her wide-eyed before he took a hesitant step forward, and then something in his eyes shifted and he bolted out of the lab.

 

Her breath caught in her throat, and she forced her gaze from the doors to Margaret, comforted a little bit that she was gaping too, “I think _that’s_ the jackass sniper shot me! _Oh my god!_ ”

 

She pushed off the table, landing on unsteady feet, “I have to talk to him.”

 

Jane caught her arm and tried to urge her back on the table, “What’s going on?”

 

“I have to go,” she yanked her arm free before looked at Margaret again. “Will you be okay?”

 

She waved a hand, “ _Go_ to him. I can handle myself.”

 

In a flash, Darcy was gone, and Steve turned, making to follow.

 

“Captain, wait.”

 

He turned back, Jane standing awkwardly to one side as Tony looked on from Margaret’s left, “What is it?”

 

Her hands were clasped on her lap and she picked at her thumbnail, “Captain, I do not know everything that’s going on, Darcy insisted on keeping certain matters to herself, but if I’m correct, then there’s definitely something you must know before you go after them.”

 

“About what?”

 

“About what universe your Bucky is really from.”

 

-

Heart pounding in her aching chest, Darcy ran full tilt toward the elevator at the end of the hall, her hands bracing against the closed doors, “JARVIS where is he?” She smacked a hand against the up arrow. “Can you fast-track this thing?”

 

Before he replied, the doors swished open and Darcy fell into the car, “Sergeant Barnes is in his apartment.”

 

“That is definitely not the Sergeant Barnes you think he is,” she muttered with a dark glare to the camera in one corner of the car as she righted herself, holding tight to the railing as it lurched.

 

“Ms. Lewis?”

 

She shook her head, “It’s complicated. _So_ complicated.”

 

The door to Bucky’s apartment—the only one on that floor in case he needed to isolate himself—was hanging open and she tapped it aside, “Buck-” she coughed as she stepped into the darkened foyer. “James?”

 

Her reply was a heavy beat of silence, and she slowly made her way deeper inside, the layout identical to the apartment she shared with Jane—sort of, since she spent most of her time in Thor’s guest suite when he was planet-side—and she found him slumped on the couch with his head in his hands.

 

Swallowing hard and forcing back the tears that stung her eyes, she stood frozen in the doorway, “ _James_?”

 

He didn’t look up, and his shoulders tensed.

 

“A long time ago, somewhere else,” she squeezed her eyes shut and her voice was watery. “There was a very confused woman running around a forest in Austria.”

 

The silence was heavy, oppressive even, before he finally shifted and let his hands slip into his hair, “And I shot her,” he finally looked up, and Darcy’s heart clenched in anticipation. “You know me.”

 

“James Barnes, of course I know you,” tears flooded her eyes and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. “But the kicker’s that you know _me_. You know what happened when I was over there.”

 

“I might. I think I do.”

 

She chewed on her lower lip, ideas flashing through her mind and hope bubbling inside her, “ _How?_ ”

 

“I fell, I was dragged through the snow, and then everything went weird,” he shuddered, swallowing hard as he clenched his hands into fists. “Next thing I knew, Zola was standing over me with a bone saw, but it was _wrong_.”

 

Her stomach lurched, and she tasted bile on her tongue as James looked down at his left hand, the right rubbing at his shoulder where the metal was fused to his skin.

 

“They took you,” she hoped more than anything, she so, so hoped. “They took you from the other side.”

 

James stood up slowly and walked around the coffee table, but stopped short a few feet from Darcy, “There was an accident, and you came to my world,” he finally managed. “We were together there for a while. You fought with us. Used what you knew of your world’s war to help us fight ours.”

 

“And we won it, too.”

 

She nodded slowly and met his steely gaze, and then something in the air in the room shifted, and Darcy jumped up into his arms, burying her had against his neck a sobs racked her body.

 

His hands shook as he wrapped his arms around her, lifting Darcy so she could squeeze her legs around his hips, “You’re here,” she gasped against his skin. “You’re really, really here.”

 

Darcy felt him nod against her head, his body shaking as he took a step back and leaned against the wall before sliding down it, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he squeezed her tighter, “I’m right here.”

 

Eventually her sobs died off, and she leaned back and kissed the corner of his mouth before touching her forehead to his, smiling crookedly, “I made my peace with it, you know?”

 

He trailed a hand over her cheek and through her hair, “With what?”

 

“That no matter what I did, you’d go after Zola’s train with Cap. That you’d fall. That you’d-” she broke off and shook her head, her nose brushing against his. “I didn’t think I’d ever see _you_ again. I almost didn’t _want_ to come back here if I wasn’t going to be with a James Barnes that looked at me like you did. Do. Like you’re doing right now.”

 

“I’m right here doll,” he kissed her nose, and then her mouth, his tongue darting out and flicking against the curve of her lower lip. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

 

She forced her hand to unclench from its grip around his metal shoulder and rubbed the dark circle under his eye with her thumb, “You look terrible, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see you.”

 

James kissed her again, “I’m just glad _you’re_ looking at _me_ like you know me now.”

 

Gasping, her eyes lip up, and she smacked his shoulder, “That’s why you kept hiding from me!”

 

“Killed me a little,” he murmured, tucking her against him, her forehead against his neck and her hand resting lightly against his chest. “When I started to remember. When I figured out there was a reason why you looking at me how you did felt wrong.”

 

“So you went after the device,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the collar of his shirt aside so she could see the metal plating, just because she could. “I’m glad you did.”

 

Tucking his knees up against her back, James pushed up the wall, then turned and pressed her against it, his hips grinding against hers, making her gasp, “Everyone downstairs probably wants to know what happened.”

 

Darcy’s brow ticked up as she tightened her arms around his neck, leaning over him, “MC said she’d handle it.”

 

And she kissed him, hard and hot, her legs tight around his waist as his hands slipped up her shirt, because after everything they’d gone through, this was what mattered.

 

-

Later, James padded out of the en suite with a damp washcloth hanging from his hand, and Darcy smiled sleepily as she curled tighter around his pillow while he dragged it between her legs and over her belly.

 

“It’s kind of like a fairy tale,” she whispered, wrinkling her nose at how cheesy she sounded, James crawling back into bed, lying on his stomach and curling a heavy arm over her middle.

 

Snorting, he pressed his mouth to her shoulder once, and then two more times, “I’m pretty sure the people responsible for me being me don’t have much to do with fairies.”

 

She slipped down the bed a little and kissed him, urging him on his side as she threw a leg over his hip, “You’re in front of me and you’re _alive_ ,” she gently stroked his cheek and then tapped his nose. “And you remember me, so I think I can tell you you’re _wrong_.”

 

“I can live with that,” he kissed her again before glancing back over his shoulder for the clock that should have been on the nightstand, but was now resting on the floor next to the lamp Darcy kicked over at some point. “But we _do_ need to get up.”

 

Letting out an overly dramatic sigh, she rolled off him and flopped back onto the pillows, but stilled when the apartment door opened with an exaggerated bang, and James reached down for the sheet lying un-tucked at the foot of the bed, handing it to Darcy.

 

“If you two are done having your enthusiastic reunion sex,” Steve called from somewhere at the other end of the hall. “You should probably come up to the penthouse so we can talk about this.”

 

Darcy rolled her eyes as she pulled the sheet over her chest while James got up and lifted the lamp off the floor, putting it back in place and flicking it on, “I take back what I said about your virtue Steve,” she called as she scooted off the bed, the sheet dragging behind her. “I gotta shower.”

 

“Just hurry up.”

 

Standing in the doorway to the en suite, Darcy turned back to James, who was searching under the bed for his clothes—only to come up with a shoe and one of her old socks—and she cleared her throat when he didn’t notice her looking at him.

 

“Yeah?”

 

She tilted her head, “I haven’t had a real shower in _eight months_.”

 

He grinned wide as he slowly got off the floor, standing tall as he grabbed her outstretched hand and tugged her to him, “Then we better make your first one back memorable,” he murmured against her mouth as he tugged the sheet and let it fall to the floor.

 

-

Steve tucked his hands in his pockets as he got back on the elevator and waited for it to take him back to Tony’s penthouse where the team plus one _Margaret Carter_ was waiting for him.

 

Well, waiting for Darcy and Bucky.

 

He snorted as he thought about the pair.

 

They weren’t surfacing for a good, long while.

 

The doors opened, and Steve rolled his eyes at the expectant gazes being tossed his way from everyone but Margaret, who was more than a little skittish without Darcy at her side, which was a startling difference from the headstrong woman he remembered from his past.

 

“Well?” Tony demanded. “Where are they?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

Jane huffed, her hands flying over her netbook keyboard as she perched on the couch, no doubt peppering Margaret with questions while he was gone, “I have _questions_ that only she can answer!”

 

“Do you want to get between her and the assassin she’s reuniting with?” She pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything else, and he looked back at Margaret. “Do you think you can explain that again? If Darcy didn’t go to the past, and I would remember if she had, how do she and Bucky know each other?”

 

“She was in the past in an _alternate timeline_ ,” she corrected. “And with the way those two reacted to each other, I think that means that James is really from the world _I’m_ from.”

 

Something in his chest went tight as he kept his gaze focused on her, “What does that mean for the Bucky from _this_ world?”

 

“I’m afraid I do not know, Captain.”

 

Tony clapped his hands and stood up, “Which is why we have to wait for the lovebirds to emerge. Anyway, who wants a drink?”

 

Margaret raised her hand, and Jane laughed as she patted her knee and put her computer on the coffee table, “We’ll take a break from interrogating you. I’m sure this is all very overwhelming.”

 

“Oh, this is nothing remotely like an interrogation, but thank you,” she squared her shoulders and turned to Steve. “You’re a lot different from what I expected.”

 

He shrugged, stepping into the sunken living area and sitting down on the recliner, “Did Darcy ever tell you anything about me and Peggy?”

 

“Only that she passed away recently. I’m sorry for your loss.”

 

Steve’s smile was a little misty as he recalled the day a few months before, “It was,” he swallowed hard. “She was with family, was lucid enough to know she was ready to go. So that was good.”

 

Something clanged at the bar, and all eyes turned to Tony, who took a long drink of the whiskey in his glass, “Someone has to tell Sharon.”

 

“Who?”

 

With a flinch, Steve looked at Margaret, “Peggy’s niece. She our liaison with the CIA.”

 

She looked down at her hands, clasping them on her lap, “Oh.”

 

-

Twenty minutes later, the elevator chimed and the doors opened to, “-and it’s wonderful to see you home safe,” Pepper said, and Steve looked up to see her giving Darcy a one-armed hug before she scuttled out of the elevator.

 

Pepper perched next to Tony, and he could hear her whisper, “Since when are Darcy and Bucky so,” and then she wiggled her hand back and forth before snatching Tony’s glass out of his loose grasp and sipping it.

 

With Tony muttering a shortened version of their afternoon to Pepper, Darcy and Bucky got off the elevator hand-in-hand, “By the way,” she said as she led Bucky in and over to the sunken seating area. “I one thousand percent call not-it for telling Sharon.”

 

“It’ll get handled.”

 

Bucky squeezed Darcy’s hand and let go, making his way over to where Steve sat.

 

He stood slowly, “Buck?”

 

“James,” he corrected gently, his voice quiet as everyone in the room narrowed their focus on him. “You know Hydra wouldn’t have made the effort to take me from my world if they already had a man to turn into the Winter Soldier.”

 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut for a minute before he opened them and put his hand out, “Not sure if the world’s big enough for two Bucky’s anyway,” he grinned wryly, and after a moment’s hesitation, James took the offered hand.

 

James matched his grin, dropping his hand and cuffing Steve’s shoulder, “Probably not.”

 

With what was probably the worst of it out of the way, Darcy walked over to Jane, swinging her arm around her shoulders and looking at Margaret, “First things first, we _need_ to take you shopping. Jane’s plaid pajama collection just _isn’t_ you. You know what _is_ you though? Consignment shops. Trust me on that.”

 

Margaret paled again, and Darcy inched back a little bit, “Breathing helps. Might want to wait a day or five before we introduce you to the Internet.”

 

“I have already become acquainted with Mister JARVIS,” she leaned forward and looked at Tony. “Is he an homage to Edwin Jarvis? Howard from my world would mention him from time to time.”

 

Tony pursed his lips, “More or less.”

 

“So,” Darcy clapped her hands together to dispel the sudden tension. “What now?”

 

Reaching over to the coffee table, Tony picked up a clear, square container with a collection of ashes inside and rattled it, “Well, considering the fact that this is what’s left of that device, I don’t think we’re going to recreate it any time soon.”

 

“I wouldn’t,” Margaret cleared her throat. “Nothing good can happen with that thing in the world again.”

 

“You don’t want us to try to get you back home?”

 

Margaret shook her head, reaching out and patting Darcy’s hand, “It’s not worth the risk and you know it. Anyway, if the Captain can adapt to this new era, then I have no doubt I’ll be just as successful.”

 

“Well then,” Pepper stood up and held her hand out to her. “Welcome home, Agent Carter.”

 

For the first time since they crossed over from the other side, Darcy grinned as she watched Margaret finally take a breath and relax.

 

-

**Later**

Steve was on the rooftop patio Tony had renovated for Jane before she agreed to move over from London, stretched out in the sunlight on one of the lounge chairs as he sketched the New York City skyline across the oversized book on his lap.

 

After a while, he heard the glass door from the sunroom swing open, and looked up in time to see Margaret inch her way into the warm spring day wearing a red blouse and dark wash jeans from a recent shopping trip with Natasha, who took to the story of her arrival and James’ circumstances with barely a flinch, “Hi there.”

 

She nodded once as she stepped out, and after a minute of silence, she cleared her throat, “Steven?”

 

He resisted the urge to sigh as he set the drawing pad aside.

 

At least it was an improvement from being called _Captain_ all the time.

 

“Yes?”

 

Margaret was clutching her new cell phone—courtesy of Tony, who was more than happy to bankroll Sharon Carter’s long-lost cousin until she found her feet—in a near death-grip, “Could you explain something about phones to me?”

 

“I’m not that much further along than you, but I can try.”

 

Favoring the phone with a quizzical look, she held it out to him, “Do you think you could explain to me why people seem to think that, what’s it called, oh, _selfies_ , are so important to modern society?”

 

With a laugh, Steve nodded and took the phone from her outstretched hand, “I’m not sure I can explain it, but I can show you?”

 

“Um, sure,” Margaret nodded as she stepped up next to him and watched as he flicked the phone off the lock screen and accessed the camera app.

 

Inside the solarium, standing just in front of the elevator doors, Darcy leaned closer to James’ side, her fingers curled around the hand hanging against her shoulder, and they watched Steve take a selfie with Margaret, “This is weird, right? I mean, I’m right, yeah?”

 

“No weirder than you and me, doll,” he kissed her forehead and then nudged her back around, pushing the down button with his hip. “We just need to help them stay happy.”

 

She giggled mischievously, leaning up and pressing her lips against the corner of his mouth, “You and I? I think we got that more than covered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Love it? Hate it? Wondering what the heck 47 was thinking when she wrote this?
> 
> Drop a line in the comments, I love hearing from you.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Eighty: “How drunk were you last night?” 
> 
> “Well, I still have my pants on, so not that drunk?” 
> 
> “Those aren’t your pants.”


	10. W is for Wings (Clint/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s simple: buy her a drink, ask her how the last couple years have been, and then go, I don’t know, have sex in a stairwell or something.”
> 
> Clint blinked at her, “It is a wonder how you are still single, Natalia Alianovna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and ye shall apparently (eventually) receive. More wingfic.
> 
> Coarsely beta'd. Holler if there's anything glaring.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Eighty Three: “You know, no one bothered me this much when I was dead.”

**W is for Wings (Clint/Darcy)**

-

**Right After**

Steve’s eyes were wide as Darcy finally looked up from the leather cuff in her hands, “So you’re _not_ a mutant?”

 

“No. I am not.”

 

She was still toying with the band clenched between tight fists when a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she looked over in time to see Clint sign something at Natasha, who turned her narrowed gaze back to Darcy, “What _are_ you then?” She snapped. “An Asgardian?”

 

Glancing over to Thor, who stood over her shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest and a concerned frown on his face, Darcy shook her head in time with him, “No, I’m not.”

 

Darcy bit her lip, one hand brushing over the back of her neck, the tips of her fingers tracing over the spines of the impressions her feathers left in her skin, and she trailed them over her shoulder blade before shaking her head, “Before I tell you, just uh, no jokes, all right?”

 

“ _Jokes_?” Clint sputtered, his first words since they got back to the Tower. “How in the world is _any_ of this remotely funny?”

 

Darcy winced, and then let out a pained sigh, “Well. It’s definitely not.”

 

They room was deadly silent as they waited.

 

“Look,” she took another deep breath. “I am a fairy.”

 

-

**Right Before**

On the roof of Rockefeller Center, Natasha effortlessly glided through the throng of partygoers milling around the garden, easily deflecting attempts to get drawn into conversation as she sidled up next to Clint, gently nudging him, “Seriously Barton,” she murmured around a sip of the white wine in the glass she held between two fingers. “Just go talk to her.”

 

Scowling, Clint shifted over on the railing he was leaning against, moving out of range from his partner’s pointy elbow, “We’re fine.”

 

She snorted as she looked across the rooftop to where Darcy, wearing a short gray cocktail dress and towering black heels, was chatting animatedly with Pepper and Steve, her hands waving in the air in front of her as she made her point, “If you two were _fine_ ,” Natasha pointedly drew out the syllable. “Then you wouldn’t be sulking right now.”

 

“’m not _sulking_.”

 

Natasha leveled a pointed glare at him, and Clint scowled right back before he turned away from her, “It’s _fine_.”

 

“Oh please,” she rolled her eyes and shifted slightly so he had to look at her. “You’ve been acting like a scared little pigeon ever since she came in with Thor and Foster. I don’t know what you two fought about that night, but it’s been _three weeks_. Buck the hell up.”

 

“ _Tasha_.”

 

Forcefully placing her glass on the railing, Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the unspoken threat in his tone, “It’s simple: buy her a drink, ask her how the last couple years have been, and then go, I don’t know, have sex in a stairwell or something.”

 

Clint blinked at her, “It is a _wonder_ how you are still single, Natalia Alianovna.”

 

She flicked her fingers into an unflattering sign he barely caught out of the corner of his eye, and he muttered a curse under his breath in reply before pushing away from the railing, “Oh fine, you old _yenta_.”

 

Natasha’s quiet laughter followed him as he walked away, and Pepper’s hazel eyes lit up when she saw him approach from over Darcy’s shoulder, “Specialist Barton!” She waved him over, as if he wasn’t already on his way, and Clint thought about deliberately overlooking it, but the weight of Natasha’s gaze was heavy on his shoulders as she strongly encouraged him to choose otherwise. “Darcy was just telling us about her time in New Mexico when Thor first arrived.”

 

The woman in question spun around, her eyes flaring for a moment before she realized that her shoes’ added height put her pretty much at eye level with him, and after a second her usual smirk returned to her face, “Specifically, I was telling them about the time you almost shot Thor when he broke into SHIELD’s not-even-remotely-super-secret base and mud-wrestled with their so-called best-of-the-best.”

 

“We learned from our mistakes with the second one,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets, stopping to stand between her and Steve.

 

“Until it _blew up in the middle of the damn night_.”

 

He smirked and shrugged a shoulder, “Gods and monsters Lewis, what can you do?”

 

Darcy finally looked him in the eye and smirked, and Clint felt something in his chest loosen a bit as he met her gaze.

 

After a minute, Steve very obviously cleared his throat, “Hey Pepper, maybe we should go make sure Tony hasn’t insulted any city officials yet,” he looked over to his right and then winced when he saw who Tony was standing with. “Or, you know, offer to build the mayor a suit of his own.”

 

Grinning, Pepper curled her hand around the elbow he offered, “That is an _excellent_ idea, Captain,” she winked at Darcy. “Darcy, Specialist Barton, if you’d please excuse us.”

 

They walked away, and Darcy watched them go with a derisive snort, “Cap _really_ needs to work on his subtle.”

 

“Hey, Mayor Archibald would _definitely_ take him up on it.”

 

She blinked and tilted her head as she regarded him.

 

Shrugging, Clint pulled his hands from the pockets of the pressed black slacks that had been laid out on his bed when he got back from workout that morning—thank you to his pesky partner, more than likely, “Can I buy you a drink?”

 

“It’s an open bar.”

 

He sighed, memories of their argument from the night she arrived and discovered he was living in the Tower too flashing through his mind, “I _was_ going to call you, Darcy.”

 

She took a small step forward, cutting him off, her bright eyes boring into his, and Clint barely breathed before she finally smiled, shaking her head dismissively, “I’m sure you were,” she didn’t sound like she believed him but she curled her arm through his anyway, the fingers of her other hand drumming against his bicep. “Now how about that drink?”

 

They stood at the bar on the far side of the rooftop—specifically away from Natasha’s amused gaze—waiting for the bartender to make Darcy’s scotch and soda when Clint’s hearing aids buzzed with a low whirring coming from somewhere behind him.

 

He curled his hand around her wrist, pushing her behind him, and Darcy jumped as she spun around, “Clint, what are you-”

 

He cut her off as he raised his other hand, whirling around to glare up at the skies.

 

Then, there was a bright flash, and Darcy’s breath was knocked from her lungs as Clint dove into her, forcing her out of the path of a laser blast from the first in a giant squadron of Doombots bearing down on the party.

 

“Shit, shit, shit!” Darcy cursed as she clung to Clint’s waist as they were thrown over the side of the historic building.

 

Clint grunted as he grabbed a piece of bent railing, debris falling around them and his hip screaming when it impacted with the corner of the building, “Darce, you good?”

 

“Yes,” she managed, her teeth grinding together as she tried to get a better grip on his waist, one of her heels falling off her feet and _down_ , and she swallowed hard. “Kind of.”

 

“Just hold on!”

 

She gasped, nodding against his back, “Can you pull us up?”

 

There was another blast, and the entire building shook amidst the guests frightened screams, while distantly they could hear the Iron Man suit’s repulsors fire off in quick succession, “Not yet. Just hold on!”

 

Darcy let out a litany of curses under her breath as she reached up with one hand and curled her fingers around his shoulder, “What are you-”

 

“Just shut up,” she muttered as she climbed up his back, hooking her arms around his neck while her knees pressed tight against his sides. “I’m going to get us out of this.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

She wrapped her fingers around the cuff covering her right wrist and started tugging at the tightly woven laces, “Hey Barton,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “You been good lately?”

 

Laser fire hit the building not five feet to their right, and Clint adjusted his grip on the railing before he spared a look over his shoulder, “What the hell are you-”

 

“Just wait, _wait_!” She let out a quiet _ha_ when she finally managed to free the leather from her wrist, squeezing it in her fist.

 

Clint heard the sound of fabric tearing as Darcy curled one arm under his shoulder, followed by the other, “Just don’t struggle,” she ordered, her mouth right behind his ear. “And when I tell you, push off as hard as you can and let go.”

 

“Are you _insane_?”

 

Something flapped hard in the air behind him, but all Clint could see were shadows as they slipped a little.

 

Darcy’s grip on his chest became shockingly tight as the Doombots finally realized that there were two massive targets hanging off the side of the building and fired in their direction, “ _Now!_ ”

 

“Now?”  


Lightening flashed across the cloudless sky, “For the love of Thor, _push off_!”

 

His arms screamed as he lifted them both up, and then he kicked back off the building.

 

And then they fell.

 

But instead of plummeting to their deaths like they should have, they only dropped a couple stories before Darcy let out a pained shout, they stopped short midair, and then rose back up, “Darcy?” His eyes were wide as he angled his head back to see the pair of wings sprouting _from her back_ , the sun behind them turning them a shadowy black.

 

“Answers later,” she growled, her wings—because _she had wings,_ what the _fuck?_ —flapping hard and lifting them higher in the air and to the right to avoid another volley of laser fire, and Darcy shouted when a stray blast singed the feathers at the end of her right wing. “Where’s your stash?”

 

“Southwest corner,” he shouted over the sounds of another blast, and the thunder and lightening that followed as Darcy ducked under the wing of a dismantled Doombot that was neatly bisected by Cap’s shield. “Go!”

 

Darcy flew to the adjacent side of the roof and dropped him, Clint rolling to a crouch and ducking to a stop under a table where his quiver was propped against a crate of freshly washed drinking glasses.

 

Standing, Clint took a second to gape at Darcy as she landed at his side, one hand holding the tattered remains of her dress and bra to her chest as she stood on the grass and kicked her other shoe into a ruined flowerbed.

 

“Darcy?”

 

Her eyes were narrow as she scanned the surface of the rooftop, Iron Man protecting the major and his assistant on one side while Steve and Natasha stood back to back in front of some cowering wait-staff at the other, “Where’s Jane?” She snapped, one arm reaching out and tugging Clint to the ground, her wing shielding them from a spray of shrapnel, and he finally got a decent look at the reddish brown feathers as they arched over him.

 

“ _Darcy_?”

 

Whirling around, she saw Jane hiding under a broken table, “Come on,” she snapped, running over and pulling her to her feet, one hand on Jane’s back as her wing came up to cover her, “Time to let the Avengers do what they do best.”

 

“But Darcy, you’ve got-”

 

Wrapping her other arm around Jane’s waist and letting out a curse as the ruined remains of her dress fell away again and revealing far too much of herself to the world, she kicked them both into the air and started flying back over to the side of the building, “ _Yes_ , I’ve got wings. I know.”

 

“No, your _boobs_ -”

 

As he fired off a volley of arrows at one of the robots, Clint barely heard Darcy yell as they disappeared over the side.

 

“ _I know Jane!_ ”

 

-

**Now**

With her arms crossed tight over her chest and the wind whipping her braided hair from one shoulder to the other, Darcy pivoted to face Rhodey, who had flown in for the day at Tony’s pestering insistence, “Are you absolutely _sure_ I’m not going to get shot out of the sky by the Air Force as soon as I take off? Because that would really put a damper on my plans for this afternoon.”

 

“Mine too,” Clint added from where he was stretched out on his back across the deck and networking one of the four computers they dedicated to monitoring the new body armor that Tony dreamed up for her.

 

Not only could she release her wings while wearing it, but—and more importantly—it _wouldn’t_ fall off her front like her shirts and bras usually did when they were torn to bits by the massive appendages and thus risk her becoming an accidental exhibitionist.

 

 

“I’m serious here,” she went on and adjusted the tight halter’s collar so it rested flush against her neck with the top edge brushing of it under her jaw. “Because getting shot out of the sky is probably going to hurt a hell of a lot worse than the time I was almost burned at the stake. Both times, actually.”

 

She tossed a reassuring smile at Clint, who sat up, his head smacking against the underside of the table as he gave her that same _look_ he gave her the first she told him the stories—once because she had been cocky and the other time because _everyone_ who was a woman was being similarly persecuted, whether for good reason or not—as they lay together late one night in the privacy of her loft.

 

What she remembered of it, at least, since it had been a _long_ time ago.

 

Rhodey pinched the bridge of his nose, “The military is aware that we’re performing a training exercise.”

 

“Training exercise,” Tony giggled—light actually, straight up giggled, and Rhodey threw a paper cup at him, but it deflected off the shoulder of the Iron Man suit before landing a few feet away.

 

With a tablet in one hand, Bruce walked over to Darcy and applied three monitors to the front of the armor, one over her heart and two more down by her hips where the edges of it curled around her hipbones and stayed flat against her skin with the help of a space-age adhesive, “Try not to knock these off,” he suggested as he walked around her and pressed two more on her lower back where her skin was free of feathers.

 

She smirked as she took the last two monitors, pressing one to her right shoulder and the other to the inside of her left wrist, “I’ll do what I can,” she glanced over her shoulder at Jane, who stood in front of the monitors and was typing rapidly on the keyboard in front of her. “Well, how do I look?”

 

Looking up, Jane arched a brow as she took in the space-age top, which was paired with Darcy’s rattiest skinny jeans and a pair of faded blue Converse that were falling apart at the seams, and she rolled her eyes, “Quite frankly, a little ridiculous. Comm. check?”

 

Twisting the tiny black device Bruce handed her into her ear, she tapped it to turn it on, “Test, one two, one two,” she quipped. “But I won’t end up with my boobs censored on the cover of every major magazine _and_ uncensored all over the Internet, _again_ , so I think we’re good.”

 

She glanced down at Clint and winked, and then walked over to Thor and Tony, who were both ready for the air, “You two ready for this?”

 

With a booming laugh, Thor clapped her on the shoulder, and she stumbled a little, “Of course Darcy. This will be a most entertaining outing! I look forward to seeing what your kind is capable of.”

 

“Just try not to turn me into a fried chicken. This is tag, not skeet shooting.”

 

Thor smiled wide and nodded, and the Iron Man suit’s faceplate slipped into place as they both took off and hovered in the air a few feet above the building.

 

Rolling her shoulders, Darcy took a deep breath as she felt the skin of her back tingle when her wings pulled away from her skin, shifting from raised impressions across her back to a pair of massive, feathery limbs that dragged across the patio as she took a step forward to resettle them.

 

Darcy reached back with her right hand and tapped the trigger hidden in the bottom edge of the armor, and a set of thin pieces of the same material popped out from the sides, layering one over the other, back and forth, to cover and protect her lower back, “Ready?”

 

“Go for it Darcy,” Jane called.

 

She grinned, bouncing on her heels before she darted across the roof to Iron Man’s landing platform, and launched off the side of New York’s tallest building with a happy holler.

 

With the chance to stretch her wings out, really stretch them out for the first time in _years_ , Darcy took a few circuits around the Tower, undoubtedly scaring the crap out of the staffers working on the building’s middle levels, and then flew up to meet Thor and Iron Man, “So,” she grinned. “Test number one, can Darcy actually fly? Yes I can.”

 

Iron Man’s repuslors whirred as he flew around her in a slow circle, and she could _feel_ his sensors scanning her wings and her back, “These _can’t_ be big enough to support your weight.”

 

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, “They’re _twice my size,_ Stark,” she twitched one out, the long, arching bone that supported the feathers smacking against his armored arm.

 

“But they should be at _least_ three times your size in order for you to actually take flight!”

 

Rolling her shoulders, she turned in the to face him, “Well I’m currently hovering hundreds of feet in the air with my _twice my size_ wings, so sorry your calculations don’t mesh with reality.”

 

“I don’t like it.”

 

She winked at Thor, whose chuckle echoed over the wind, and she shrugged, “Like I said, sorry that fairies and physics don’t mix. Except I’m not.”

 

“ _While this is all entirely hilarious,_ ” Bruce’s deadpan echoed on the comm. “ _Can we please get started?_ ”

 

A wicked grin spread across Darcy’s face as she gently flapped her wings so she could drift closer to Thor, “Well then, in the immortal words of schoolyard brats everywhere,” she reached out and punched his shoulder. “Tag, you’re it!”

 

With a snap, her wings folded against her back, and she dropped below them both, nearly landing back on the Tower’s roof before she unfurled them and took off toward the water, both men in pursuit.

 

-

They put her through test after test for over an hour, monitoring her speed, how her body endured things like sudden altitude and temperature changes, and even how her skeletal structure reacted to the strain the wings put on it whenever she moved too sharply or did something that would break the back of an otherwise normal human.

 

In all the long years of her life, Darcy had never question it.

 

It just _worked_.

 

Finally, Darcy landed back on the roof, stumbling and laughing as Clint caught her with an arm around her waist, one of her wings nearly clipping the side of his head before she managed to pull them both against her back, a hard twitch of her shoulders pulling both wings back over the side of the building.

 

“I don’t think I’ve had this much fun since I was first learning to fly!” She gushed as Jane handed her a bottle of water, and she drank down the entire thing, and then the fancy energy drink in Jane’s other hand, while Tony’s robots peeled him out of the suit and Thor landed after him.

 

Clint’s hand slipped up her back as she nuzzled against his neck, and Tony clapped his hands as he joined them, “I think we’ve got ourselves some more air support. Perfect!”

 

“We have _Sam._ ”

 

“You can never have too much help,” he poked her in the shoulder, and she rolled her eyes as she looked at him. “Now Darcy, this is extremely important: have you thought of your superhero codename yet?”

 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Steve coughed as he made his way out on the patio, Natasha at his heels.

 

Curling her arm around Clint’s waist and slipping her fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, Darcy grinned as he shivered when the cold of her skin touched his spine, and she looked at Steve, “If you want to see me go hand-to-hand with Natasha, we can totally put that on the books,” she met the woman’s answering grin with a smirk of her own as she curled closer to Clint, adrenalin thrumming through her veins and making her shake. “I’ve been fighting in wars for hundreds of years before you were even born, Cap.”

 

He blinked, and then shook his head bashfully, “Sorry, I forget.”

 

Yawning, she leaned deeper into Clint’s side, and his hand pressed tighter to her back, “I know, I know, I look like I’m twelve.”

 

“You definitely do _not_ ,” Clint snorted, curling his other arm under her legs when her knees gave out.

 

She buried her nose against his neck and slung an arm over his shoulders, “Oops.”

 

Clint shook his head as he looked back to her wings, the sunlight glimmering off the clusters of silver on the inner sides, and then back at the door, “Uh Darce, you’re going to need to do something about those.”

 

“Eh, meh, I think I’m gonna need a minute,” she slurred as she buried her head against his shoulder, and her stomach growled loudly. “Oh _shit_ , I’m hungry. I could eat a horse. Two horses even.”

 

Distantly, she heard Jane tell Bruce to grab a syringe so they could check her glucose levels, and then someone was grabbing her arm and there was a quick pinch as they drew her blood, “Ugh. I think I forgot this part.”

 

Clint’s arms tightened around her, “Darcy, you all right?”

 

“Probably. Uh, are you _spinning_?”

 

“No. _Jane!_ ”

 

-

**After Lunch (And A Hearty Snack…And Dinner)**

“You never mentioned what happened to your people, the other fairies,” Clint said later that night as they sat in his room, Darcy in the center of his bed with her arms wrapped around a pillow while he sat behind her with his legs bracketing her hips.

 

Her wings were spread out across the bed, the ends with their large and frayed feathers hanging off the sides and brushing against the hardwood floor, and Clint was gently carding his fingers through the mottled gray and black feathers on her right side, smoothing them out and settling everything back to rights like he so often did with the fletching on his arrows.

 

Countless bird jokes were flickering through her mind, and she resisted the urge to blurt them out, shuddering as she glanced at him over her shoulder, “I really wouldn’t know,” she swallowed, and then looked back down at the massive white pillow that was the only thing keeping her covered.

 

Moving his hands to her shoulders, Clint stroked the notch in her wing where it melded with her spine from the old wound that never healed right with the side of his thumb, “Darcy?”

 

She reached up and patted his hand, “I wasn’t really accepted by my people because I was so interested in spending time around humans, even when they decided they wanted our resources and our magic more than they wanted peace,” she absently stroked her fingers over the back of his hand as she lost herself in her memories. “I would hide among the humans, using the magic in that cuff to blend in. One day, I went back home, where home was at least, and they were all gone.”

 

“Have you ever gone looking for them?”

 

She shrugged again, “Not really?” She looked back at him. “Sometimes I feel like I abandoned them, but your world is just so _interesting_. I mean, I doubt my people have had any of the advancements humans have. It’s kind of why I ended up with Jane, I think. Just look at what she’s doing, the _worlds_ she found. It’s _amazing_.”

 

“Some of it,” he agreed after he took a minute to wrest down the memories of being possessed by Loki all those years ago, his thumbs slipping to gently run up and down the base of her neck until he resettled.

 

Darcy noticed—she always did—and she turned a little, reaching back to smooth the frown lines off his forehead, “Some of it.”

 

Leaning forward, he kissed her, and then gently tugged her back against him as he rested against the headboard, her wings pressing against his chest, “Will you ever go looking for them again?”

 

She rubbed her thumb back and forth against the inside of his right knee, “I don’t know,” she hummed, nudging her head against his chin. “My mother was very long lived by the time I was young, and all my siblings and half-siblings were so much older than me. I doubt they’d even remember me anyway. They probably won’t be thrilled if they found out that I’m still up to no good.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you’re up to plenty good,” he murmured, his mouth pressed against the side of his head.

 

Darcy squeezed his knee, “I’m pretty sure you’re more than a little biased.”

 

“Let me be.”

 

Sitting up, she pushed the pillow away and turned around, her wings melding into her back and over her legs as she straddled his hips and ran her hands down his bare chest before she rested them on the sides of his head and pressed her mouth to his, “I guess I can do that,” she murmured. “Anyway, the important thing is that my family is all right here.”

 

One hand running up and down the impressions on her back, Clint stared up into her eyes and stole another kiss from her parted mouth, “Yeah?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

-

**Some Months Later**

It was the middle of the night when Clint and Darcy’s phones blared with the piercing alarm that signaled an assemble call, and she groaned, rubbing her hand over her eyes as he rolled over her to grab them both from the nightstand and silence them.

 

“JARVIS?” Glancing at the clock and wincing at the time, she coughed sleep from her voice as she pushed the covers off her and Clint rolled off the other side of the bed. “Sit rep?”

 

“Agent Romanov has received a distress call from a former SHIELD agent known as the Cavalry. Hydra agents are pursuing her and her team on a small island in the Philippines. Air support was requested.”

 

A yawn muffled her first attempt at a reply, and she cleared her throat and tried again, “Who’s the Cavalry?” She murmured as she passed barefoot over to Clint’s closet, her spare uniform—made from the same material as Steve’s stealth-suit—neatly folded on one of the built-in shelves so she wouldn’t have to run downstairs to her own suite.

 

While she pulled her on her shirt, gloves, and gauntlets, Clint was tugging the neoprene tank top he wore under his vest over his head, “Legendary SHIELD agent,” his voice was muffled by the shirt before his head popped free and he handed Darcy her pants. “One of the best.”

 

“ _You and Tasha_ were SHIELD’s best,” she muttered as she stepped into them, grabbing her belt and pulling it tight.

 

He smirked as he belted his own pants and reached for his thigh holster, which was waiting for the sidearm already loaded in their shared weapons case on the Quinjet, “The last generation,” he tugged her to him, his hand slipping up her back and running over the feather impressions as he pressed his mouth to hers. “Saddle up baby, I think things are about to get weird.”

 

Pulling back, Darcy snatched a pair of glasses off the shelf and pushed them on her nose, blinking twice as the display—similar to the HUD in the Iron Man suit’s mask—activated and quickly cycled through the calibration tests, and then she smirked, “You know how much I love weird,” she kissed him quickly before stepping into her boots, her hands shifting her hair into a French braid.

 

Clint grabbed his bow and quiver and led the way out of the bedroom, and Darcy grinned up at him as they waited for the elevator to take them up to the landing pad, “Let’s go rescue a SHIELD agent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, more to come :)
> 
> Eventually
> 
> Love it? Hate it? Wondering what 47 was thinking when she wrote this? Drop a line in the comments, I love hearing from you.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Eighty Three: “You know, no one bothered me this much when I was dead.”


	11. Y is for Yes (Clint/Darcy, Darcy & Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So what is this?” She glanced down her nose. “One of those ‘make a left turn at this corner at this specific time on this specific day and all will be revealed’ kind of thing? Because I don’t know if I actually believe in that, and these days, I'm pretty damn open minded.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first scene a while back, didn't know where I was going with it, and then the rest of this happened sometime while I was writing the last chapters of Instead Of One Day Of Presents (We Have Eight Crazy Nights). So there's that.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Eighty Eight: "Why are your hands purple?" 
> 
> "That's a very good question."

**Y is for Yes (Clint/Darcy, Darcy & Darcy)**

-

Of all damn things, she wrote the prophecy in sure, even print on one side of a flimsy white napkin.

 

It rested innocently in the middle of the spackled Formica table at the empty diner she’d been asked to meet her at—a text that somehow came from her own cell phone number.

 

Taking a deep breath, Darcy Lewis reached out for the napkin, the tips of her fingers brushing against the side of it when a hand from the woman sitting on the other side of the table stopped her.

 

“So what is this?” She glanced down her nose. “One of those ‘make a left turn at this corner at this specific time on this specific day and all will be revealed’ kind of thing? Because I don’t know if I actually believe in that, and these days, I'm pretty damn open minded.”

 

A Darcy Lewis—maybe a decade older, with a small scar under her right eye and the marks of long healed burns wrapped around the outstretched hand and wrist—let out a quiet giggle, “God you’re cute,” she rested her chin on the palm of her other hand. “I think I’ve forgotten how it was like to be like you. I might even miss it a little.”

 

Blinking, Darcy drew her hand back, “Am I,” the frown on her face deepened in its intensity as she tested her words before saying them, even if she sounded really silly when they passed her lips. “Am I hitting on myself?”

 

The older Darcy’s raspy laughter echoed through the room, the florescent lights masking the dark, rainy night outside, “While that would probably make for a very interesting experiment, I can say that I’m not exactly looking for a relationship right now,” she lines around her eyes crinkled. “And also, I’m very, very straight.”

 

Still feeling more than a little uneasy, Darcy pasted a smirk on her face and toyed with the straw in her half-empty soda, “Nice to know some things don’t, well _won’t_ , change.”

 

A silence fell over their corner of the diner as the other Darcy sobered and looked down at her hands, the fingers of her right hand playing over the scars on her left, “Well I’m actually hoping that quite a few things might.”

 

Swallowing hard, a pair of identical gazes fell back to the napkin, “I don’t know,” Darcy murmured, thought about reaching out again, but let her hand fall back down to the tabletop with a clunk. “I’ve seen a lot of shitty science fiction movies to know how badly this can go if I can see what’s going to happen.”

 

After checking her watch for what might have been the fifth time since they sat down twenty minutes ago, the older Darcy shook her head, “That’s not what you’re in for, my dear.”

 

“Why me?” Darcy met her double’s pale blue eyes, looking for answers in them but finding none. “I’m not special. Why would they, _whoever_ they are, send _you_ , and why would they send you to _me_?”

 

A sad smile crossed her lips, and for the first time, Darcy noticed another small scar on the corner of her mouth, and _what_ in the world had she gone through in this mysterious future of hers?

 

“You’re a lot more important than you think, Darcy Lewis,” she said after a minute. “And it took me a long time to figure that out. Too long.”

 

Her watch beeped, and she slipped out of the booth, pausing at Darcy’s side and reaching out with her burn-scarred hand, squeezing Darcy’s shoulder gently, “Don’t make the same mistakes I did. _Please_.”

 

“But what mistakes did you _make_?”

 

Darcy’s question went unanswered as the other woman slipped away, the heels of her boots tapping against the tile, and Darcy stared blankly down at the napkin as the bell over the front door chimed as it opened, and then again when it closed.

 

Eventually, she wrapped her fingers around the napkin, staring at the scar-free skin on her own body, and she made sure she couldn’t see the words scribbled over the bottom side.

 

She carefully folded it in half, and then one more time before finally looking down at the little white square she held tight between two fingers.

 

When she woke up that morning, after a long day of work with Jane and Bruce, and then dinner with Pepper and Thor, bizarre enough for a woman from a no-name town in eastern Washington, she never imagined that she’d hear from some futuristic incarnation of _herself_.

 

And she _really_ didn’t expect to have her destiny—such as it may or may not be—thrown right in her face.

 

As if one decision that she could make, influenced by words sketched out on a _napkin_ of all things, would really change her life, could help her help the Avengers save the world.

 

How was this her life?

 

“Was that your sister?”

 

Startled, Darcy’s heart stuttered in her chest as she knocked her cup over, clear soda spilling across the table, “Shit,” she grabbed for the other napkins, yanking a handful out of the dispenser and patting them over the mess. “Sorry, sorry.”

 

The waitress smiled thinly as she grabbed the cup and pulled a rag from her apron, swiping ice and the rest of the mess away, “No problem, dear. Sorry I startled you. Can I get you anything else?”

 

The thought of eating made her stomach turn, “No thanks. What do I owe you?”

 

“A five will cover your drinks.”

 

She dug a ten out of her wallet and handed it over, “Thanks. Keep the change.”

 

With the napkin still clenched tight in her hand, Darcy scuttled out of the diner and into the cool, damp night, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket as she looked around before turning right, back toward Stark Tower.

 

-

Up on the roof of the diner, Darcy wrapped her fingers around the scarf draped around her neck, which covered the scars that spread over her collarbone, and she propped one foot on the ledge, watching her younger counterpart disappear around the corner.

 

“Do you think it’ll work?”

 

Flinching, she glanced over her shoulder, saw a woman with dark red hair tied in a high ponytail standing a few feet behind her, and she smiled thinly, “I sure as hell hope it does. What other choice do we have?” She sighed. “Choice. I had one of those once. Chose wrong.”

 

“Well here’s to hoping she makes the right choice.”

 

She stepped up next to Darcy and looked out into the glittering night, “You know, you can always stay here, disappear. No one would blame you for not going back to at hell.”

 

Darcy arched a brow, “What in the world are you talking about Natasha? You’re going back, I’m going back, and we’re _going_ to fix this. We’ll find a way to make it better.”

 

“There’s nothing left for you there.”

 

“And there’s nothing for me here either,” she sighed, the skyline so different from the one she was used to. “This isn’t my world. These people just don’t deserve to go through what we have.”

 

Natasha sighed, “You’ve lost more than most.”

 

“We’ve _all_ lost things, _people_ , that matter to us. Doesn’t make me special. Doesn’t mean I can just _leave_.”

 

One shoulder lifted, “Hey, I was just asked to make the offer.”

 

Her eyes were wide, “Who in the _world_ told you to ask me _that_?”

 

Natasha looked away, her hands dug deeper in her pockets, and Darcy rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Oh dear lord, tell the Cap I’m not the starry-eyed waif I was when the planet fell. We’re all soldiers now.”

 

“Sam just worries, you know that.”

 

Rubbing a hand over her eyes, she shook her head, and then reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a flat metal remote, flipping it back upright on her palm, “Let’s go. It’s time you and I move along.”

 

Natasha turned with her, head tilted, “You don’t want to wait and see what happens? We have time.”

 

“Not remotely,” she took a deep breath and held the remote in white-knuckled fingers. “No.”

 

“Hey,” Natasha reached out and curled her hand around Darcy’s elbow. “You okay?”

 

She clicked a button on the remote and a swirling blue portal opened up in front of them, “I’ll be fine,” she tossed a strained smile onto her face, pocketed the remote and pulled a sidearm from the holster concealed at her back by her layered jackets, watched out of the corner of her eye as Natasha did the same. “Come on. We’ve got to move.”

 

-

Ensconced in the heat of the building, Darcy unzipped her jacket as she stepped on the elevator, the tiny square napkin still clenched tight in her right hand, “Hey J, can you take me up to the common level?”

 

The elevator was already moving, “Of course. Did you have a pleasant walk, Ms. Lewis?”

 

“Well it was interesting,” she barked a laugh that was a little hysterical. “I need a drink.”

 

“You’re in luck then, as Sir has just had the bar restocked.”

 

She grinned wide, “My night is complete.”

 

“Careful, it’s still early.”

 

Not that she needed tom, her eyes flicked up to the top of the car, “Has Stark been playing with your programming again?”

 

“Maybe a little.”

 

The common level was quiet and the living room was empty, and Darcy exhaled heavily as she stepped in, dropping her jacket on the arm of the couch before she padded over to the bar by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

 

She rooted through the bottles, arching a brow at the new selections of whiskey that Tony had added before she grabbed an already opened bottle of Jack, a bottle of Malibu, and ducked under the refrigerator for a diet Coke.

 

The drink was probably a little heavy on the Jack and the Malibu, but Darcy didn’t really care all that much as she replayed her meeting with _herself_ over and over and over in her mind.

 

She still couldn’t bring herself to read the words on the napkin, which now rested on the counter next to the racked glasses.

 

“Hey Darcy.”

 

Startling a little, she put her glass back down on the counter and looked across the room at Clint, who looked fresh from a very long nap and shower, “Hey, welcome back,” an easy grin crossed her face as some of the tightness in her chest loosened. “How was the deal in that country that ends in –stan that I’m not supposed to know about?”

 

Hands stuffed in his pockets, he shrugged and made his way over, easing onto a stool on the other side of the bar, “Classified.”

 

“That good, huh?” She nudged her glass across the granite with the tips of her fingers. “Alcohol, alcohol, and a tiny bit of soda. You want?”

 

“Nah, I’m good,” he nudged it back, arching a brow at the long drag she took from it. “Everything all right with you, Darce?”

 

The idea of actually telling him what happened—telling anyone really—kind of made her feel sick, but that could have been the alcohol too, “Weird night, full moon, you know how it is,” she said as breezily as she could muster.

 

He looked at her for a long minute before rolling his eyes, “ _Sure_.”

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Clint drumming his fingers against the countertop, “Hey Darcy.”

 

“Yeah?” She looked up from contemplating the ice cubes in her glass and how perfectly round they were and what did Tony even do to the ice machine to make them come out that way, and saw him looking at her pretty intently. “What’s up?”

 

“You want to go out tomorrow night?” He shifted on his stool a little, pushed his shoulders back as he went on. “Grab a bite to eat, maybe catch a movie or something?”

 

She blinked owlishly, “You talking a little team bonding, or-”

 

Flinching a little, Clint rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his ears turning red, “Ah, no. Just you and me, maybe if you’re up for it?”

 

“Yes,” she twitched a little at how quickly the word came out of her mouth, and then realized that she _did_ want to. “Yes.”

 

Clint grinned, “Awesome. Seven?”

 

“You might have to take it up with my boss,” she grinned. “Speaking of, I kind of left her in the lab when I went out a couple hours ago, and I’m pretty sure she’s still there. Want to help me drag her back into the real world?”

 

Tapping his hand against the countertop, Clint shifted off the stool, “Let’s do it.”

 

From the opposite entrance to the living room, Pepper smiled as she watched them walk away and made her way over to the bar, grabbed Darcy’s abandoned drink and sniffed at it before she shrugged and took a delicate sip.

 

She put the bottles back up, and then noticed the half-folded napkin resting on the countertop.

 

With one delicate eyebrow arched, she unfolded it with one hand and smoothed her fingers over the words, a smile spreading across her face as she looked down at the note Darcy scribbled.

 

 _Just say yes_.

 

-

**Some Years Later**

On a sunny day in early summer, Darcy sat on a bench in Central Park, eyes focused on the book in her hand, and she didn’t look up when someone sat down at the opposite end from her perch.

 

“So,” a very familiar voice said. “You took my advice. I’m glad.”

 

Darcy fumbled with the book before snapping it shut and pressing it against her thigh, eyes wide as she looked over, “Oh, you again,” she swallowed hard and took a second to get her breathing under control. “Actually, uh, I never read the note. It kinda disappeared.”

 

The older Darcy, still scarred and wearing the same jeans, scarf, and jackets from their first meeting all those years ago, arched a brow, “Really.”

 

She shrugged, looking out to the grassy dog run where Clint was wrestling with Lucky, “I got distracted,” she thought back to that night, smiled at the memories of the night that followed. “Was asked out on a date.”

 

“And you said?”

 

Looking fondly at Clint as he rolled onto his stomach and let Lucky jump on his back, his paws batting at his head, she looked back at her older counterpart, “Well obviously I said yes,” she tilted her head at the look on Darcy’s face. “What? You checking up on me?”

 

Darcy grinned, “I had a free minute, thought I’d drop by.”

 

“Where are you even from? Or is the question supposed to be _when_?”

 

Her grin widened, and she pulled a pair of mirrored sunglasses from the inner pocket of one jacket and slid them over the bridge of her nose, “Oh no, _where_ is probably more appropriate. But like I said, I was just in the neighborhood.”

 

She shook her head, her hair falling over her bare shoulders, “And you’re checking in because?”

 

“Just because.”

 

Darcy shot a look over to Clint, who was very much occupied with the one-eyed dog, and shifted to face her older counterpart, one leg bent at the knee and resting on the bench, “How are _you_ doing?”

 

Looking down at her hands, she rubbed her fingers over her scars, and then met Darcy’s gaze and smiled, “I’m helping people. It’s good, getting better,” she stood up, nodded her head toward Clint. “You’ve got a good one there. _Enjoy_ it.”

 

“I am,” Darcy tapped her fingers against the cover of the book, resisting the urge to stand, ask her to stay and answer the million questions buzzing through her mind. “Am I ever going to see you again?”

 

“Probably not.”

 

She sighed, “At least I know I’m still hot when I’m Clint’s age.”

 

Darcy reached out and tapped her shoulder, “Like there was any doubt.”

 

With another nod, Darcy walked off, and Darcy watched her older counterpart go, watched her curl an arm around the shoulders of a woman standing in the shadows, and she was pretty sure she saw a glimmer of red hair in the sunlight before they disappeared.

 

“Hey Darce!”

 

She looked back over to Clint, who was now sitting with a panting Lucky sprawled across his lap, “Yeah?”

 

“I’m getting hungry. Want to grab a pretzel?”

 

Grabbing her book and her bag, she hopped off the bench, “Yes. Definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill :) 
> 
> I love hearing from you.
> 
> \---  
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/writing-tips/writing-prompts/)
> 
> Number Eighty Eight: "Why are your hands purple?" 
> 
> "That's a very good question."


End file.
